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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743302">We Are Few Against The Wind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotetofollow/pseuds/anotetofollow'>anotetofollow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mien'Harel [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU: Mien'Harel, Arguing, Bickering, City Elf!Lavellan, Duelling, F/M, Grey Wardens, Idiots in Love, Intrigue, Legit Warden!Blackwall, Lovers to Friends to Enemies then back to lovers again, Orlais (Dragon Age), Orlesian Culture and Customs, Orlesian Grand Game (Dragon Age), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, So much bickering</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:20:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>67,401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24743302</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotetofollow/pseuds/anotetofollow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been three months since Tanith and Blackwall returned from Orzammar.</p><p>Now, another mystery demands the attention of the Fort Astor Wardens - this one taking them into the heart of the Orlesian court.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall/Female Lavellan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Mien'Harel [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788742</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. To Rest In The Warmest Places</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this is a direct sequel to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24259354/chapters/58463617">All Souls Who Take Up The Sword</a> - I suggest reading that first if you haven't already, as this might not make much sense without it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tanith lunged out of the path of the lightning just in time, smelling burning hair as it passed uncomfortably close to her head. She thumbed the singed end of one curl, then hauled herself to her feet and sent a barrage of missiles from the end of her staff, three bolts of energy that flew wildly across the courtyard. Hywel neatly sidestepped the first two, then deflected the third with a motion of his hand that was almost careless. It was <em> infuriating </em>how little effort it seemed to take him to do such things, his posture upright and graceful as he avoided every spell she threw in his direction.</p><p>Undeterred, Tanith drew in a little more power. She let it build inside her, feeling the familiar tingling at her extremities, then fought to focus it into a single attack. Eschewing her staff altogether, she flung out her hand and sent a fireball flying in Hywel’s direction.</p><p>For a moment she was certain she had him. Then he made a single, clean movement with his staff, and a wall of solid ice appeared in front of him. The fireball collided with it in a cacophony of hissing, sending a great cloud of steam spreading out across the training ground. Some of the Wardens who were slacking off their duties to watch the battle whooped in approval, several of the cries turning to coughs as they breathed in the steam.</p><p>Tanith dropped into a defensive posture, her staff held out in front of her as she prepared for Hywel’s next attack. When the cloud cleared, however, the space in front of her was empty. Before she had time to work out what was going on Tanith heard the sound of a throat being cleared, and she span around to see Hywel standing twenty feet behind her. The thick steam could certainly have covered his movements, but she was certain that there had not been enough time for him to make it all the way across the courtyard.</p><p>Hywel stamped his foot against the ground, and a fist-sized lump of rock and dirt pulled itself up from the earth to hang in the air in front of him. He punched forward in Tanith’s direction and the missile followed the motion, hitting her square in the chest before she had a chance to counter it. The blow threw her backwards, knocking the air from her lungs and sending her staff clattering out of her hand. For a moment all she could do was lay there, coughing and gasping as she attempted to catch her breath. The Wardens who had been watching applauded, clearly considering the fight over, and wandered back to whatever it was they had been doing before.</p><p>Tanith was just about breathing normally again when Hywel leaned over her, his silhouette blocking out the sun. Her trainer reached out his hand, and reluctantly she let him pull her to her feet.</p><p>“Are you alright?” he asked, the barest hint of amusement in his tone. “Anything need healing?”</p><p>Tanith prodded experimentally at the spot where the last blow had landed. It was sore, and she’d have a nasty bruise for it, but nothing seemed to be broken. “Don’t think so.”</p><p>“That wasn’t bad, you know,” he said. “Lasted a full minute longer than last time.”</p><p>“Just watch,” she said, with more bravado than she felt. “I’ll beat you one of these days.”</p><p>“You’re getting closer,” Hywel said. “Not close,” he clarified. “But closer.”</p><p>“I suppose that’s something.” Tanith brushed the dirt from her training leathers, then bent down to pick up her staff. The yellow feathers stuck into the wood were remarkably undamaged, if a little dusty. “So. Any tips?”</p><p>“You didn’t use your staff for that fireball.” Hywel’s voice wasn’t reproachful, not exactly, but nor was it pleased.</p><p>Tanith sighed. “It just doesn’t feel natural, sometimes,” she said. “I feel like I’m losing power when I channel that way. Besides, what was wrong with it? It was huge.”</p><p>“You know that doesn’t necessarily mean it was <em> better</em>, don’t you?” he asked. “It looks more impressive, certainly, but there’s no precision in it. If you’d channelled it through your staff instead of your hand it might have been half the size, yes, but it also would have been twice as fast. I might not have been able to defend in time.”</p><p>“Doesn’t it seem redundant to you, though? Mages aren’t born holding staves.”</p><p>“And warriors aren’t born holding swords,” he said sternly. “It is a tool, da’len, and one you must learn to use properly.”</p><p>“Fine.” She rolled her eyes.</p><p>Hywel tugged irritably at the end of his long braid. “Creators, but I wish I’d gotten to you sooner. I needn’t be teaching you twice over.”</p><p>This had been a common complaint of his over the last few months. Hywel was convinced that Tanith had great magical potential, but that her lack of training had rendered most of it useless. According to him, learning proper technique at her age was significantly harder than it would have been in her childhood. Tanith had never regretted her lack of training before coming to Fort Astor, but now it grated on her. The other mages here had control, finesse, a calm grace in battle. Tanith fought, as Hywel put it, ‘like a cat trying to claw its way out of a burlap sack’.</p><p>“Are you doing your breathing exercises?” he asked.</p><p>“Yes,” she lied.</p><p>“Hmm.” Hywel frowned at her, his tattooed forehead creasing. “They do help, you know. Your magic is entwined with your breath. You take it in like air—”</p><p>“—and expel it just the same,” Tanith finished. He had given her this speech a dozen times. “I’ll practice tonight. I promise.”</p><p>“Good!” He clapped her on the shoulder warmly, his firm trainer’s demeanour falling away. “Now, I think it’s long past time for lunch, don’t you?”</p><p>They left the courtyard and headed for the mess, climbing the stone steps that led back up to the keep. All of the windows inside had been thrown open, letting in the cool breeze off the sea. It had been a long, hot summer, and even now it was turning to autumn the heat showed no sign of waning. Tanith’s arms and cheeks were peppered with even more freckles than usual, evidence of months spent training in the sun-drenched courtyard. She could feel herself growing stronger, faster, more alert, though her body seemed to be making progress that her magic could not keep up with.</p><p>As Tanith and Hywel walked through the building’s central corridor they passed a young man wearing the order’s colours, his light armour hanging a little awkwardly from his narrow frame. Tanith reached out to ruffle his shock of dark hair, and the lad batted her away like an embarrassed teenager. Which, she supposed, he was.</p><p>“Alright, Darius?”</p><p>“Aye,” he said. “Late for training. Davorn’s going to skin me alive.”</p><p>“Probably,” Hywel said. “You’d best hurry up.”</p><p>“Well it wasn’t my fault!” Darius protested. “I fell asleep in Odette’s class. She made me stay behind till I could recite the names of every Warden-Commander from memory.”</p><p>“She made me do that once,” Tanith said, smiling sympathetically. “Get on with you, then.”</p><p>Darius hurried off down the corridor, breaking into a run for a few steps before slowing down again. Tanith had a certain sisterly affection for the lad, surly as he was. He had been the first — and only — Grey Warden that Tanith had brought into the fold during her short-lived stint on recruitment. When she had returned from Orzammar three months ago she had been delighted to discover that he had survived his Joining, and that the former thief had settled in fairly well to life at Fort Astor.</p><p>As, Tanith supposed, had she.</p><p>When she and Blackwall had come back to the keep after their mission investigating Warden-Commander Tabris, Tanith had been certain that Perchet was going to prolong her punishment for as long as possible. The Warden-Constable had not been especially happy with the limited amount of information they shared with her, but her manner had changed when she learned that they had joined an expedition to the Deep Roads. Clearly she had not anticipated that they would go to such lengths. Perchet had looked at Tanith differently after that, as though seeing something unexpected in her. The Warden-Constable had released her from her recruitment duties, allowing her to continue her tuition under Hywel and her lessons with Odette. While Tanith wasn’t delighted about the latter, she was relieved to get back to the former. Fighting darkspawn in the Deep Roads had highlighted just how ill-equipped she was for battle.</p><p>Hywel, though his wry composure was maddening sometimes, was an excellent teacher. While she still had a long way to go, Tanith knew that she was making progress. He was also patient — a virtue that was proving essential. More than once Tanith had walked out of a training session in sheer frustration, and every time he would be waiting for her the following day as though nothing had happened. It helped that he too was an elf. Tanith could tell from the calm slant of his ears that he never felt any anger towards her. His gentle forbearance was not an act, hiding his resentment. He genuinely wished to help her learn.</p><p>The two of them made their way down to the mess hall in the bottom of the keep, the long room already half-full with Wardens eating, talking, playing cards. The long window across one wall let in the sounds of gulls and breaking waves, mingling with the low murmur of chatter and the occasional laugh. It was Tanith’s favourite place in Fort Astor. A fire forever burning in the hearth, food always on the table, never anyone with an unkind word. Back in the alienage she had never dreamed that such simple pleasures would one day be normal to her.</p><p>She and Hywel went to the kitchen to fetch something to eat, then came to sit at their usual table. Clement was there already, the tall warrior frowning over a book as he chewed. When Hywel sat down beside him Clement absently leaned over to kiss his cheek, not looking up from his book. It was the casual affection of a couple who had been together a long time.</p><p>“Have you won yet?” Clement asked Tanith when she pulled up a seat.</p><p>“Not yet,” she said, layering cheese and pickled walnuts onto bread. “Apparently I’m getting ‘closer, but not close’.”</p><p>“Oh, bad luck.” Clement smiled apologetically at her. “Maybe next time.”</p><p>There wasn’t an ounce of sarcasm in his voice, and Tanith found herself smiling back in spite of herself. She hadn’t wanted to like this noble shem when she had first arrived at Fort Astor — had worked very hard not to, in fact — but Clement had proved a difficult man to hate. He was warm and gentle, entirely unaffected despite his aristocratic upbringing, and had been polite to Tanith whether or not she had shown him the same courtesy. Gradually she had come around to him, encouraged in no small part by his relationship with Hywel. She had a great deal of respect for her trainer, and trusted where she placed his regard. Besides, she was hardly in a position to reject all humans on principle. Not any more.</p><p>“Did you know,” Clement said, tapping his fingers against the cover of his book, “that a griffon’s beak could <em> shred plate armour</em>? Can you even imagine such a thing?”</p><p>“Oh, Creators, here we go.” Hywel shook his head, smiling to himself as he spooned soup into his mouth.</p><p>“What?” Clement looked indignant. “It’s our <em> heritage</em>, Hy. It’s important.”</p><p>“I just think it’s interesting that you only seem to care about our heritage when griffons are involved.”</p><p>“I mean, be fair,” Tanith said. “Griffons <em> are </em> the most interesting thing about the Wardens.”</p><p>Clement made a small, graceful bow in her direction. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m glad somebody appreciates my good taste.”</p><p>“Odette won’t tell me <em> anything </em> about them,” Tanith frowned. “Keeps saying I have to wait.”</p><p>“She does that with all the new recruits,” Hywel chuckled. “Hangs the griffons over their heads so they keep coming back. She’ll tell you eventually. If you behave.”</p><p>“Garahel’s sister was a griffon rider,” Clement said to Tanith. “A mage, too. Her mount was Revas.”</p><p>“That’s <em> freedom</em>, in the tongue,” Hywel said.</p><p>“Really?” Tanith said, genuinely interested. Garahel, she knew, had been born in an alienage as she had. There were few enough elven mages of note in history, let alone those who came from such humble roots.</p><p>“Really.” Clement handed her the book. “Borrow it, if you like. I’ve read it twice already.”</p><p>She reached out to take it, then hesitated. “Is this Odette’s?”</p><p>“It is. Why?”</p><p>“I may have been banned from borrowing her books.” Tanith grimaced. “I left wine stains on her copy of <em> In Pursuit of Knowledge</em>.”</p><p>Both of the men made low, pained noises, clearly knowing how Odette would have responded to such a crime. The archivist had been so angry when she noticed the stains that Tanith had genuinely thought she might start breathing fire.</p><p>“Take it anyway,” Clement shrugged. “Our secret. Just try not to damage it. I’ve not been on the receiving end of one of Odette’s grudges for years and I’d like to keep it that way.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Tanith took it from him, idly flicking through the pages. There was a wonderful etching on the frontispiece, showing a griffon in flight with an armoured Grey Warden sitting on its back. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of annoyance that she had joined the order a full four hundred years too late to be a griffon rider. Now <em> that </em>would have been worth drinking darkspawn blood for.</p><p>They had almost finished eating when Nataly entered the mess hall, the dwarf raising her hand in greeting as she walked over to their table. Her shorn, scarred head and heavy armour made her appear intimidating at first glance, but she had quickly become one of Tanith’s closest friends at the keep. She was funny and clever and — most importantly — didn’t suffer fools.</p><p>“You’re late,” Clement said.</p><p>“Sorry.” Nataly climbed onto one of the long benches and stole a hunk of bread from his plate. “Recruit wrangling. Blackwall just got back.”</p><p>Tanith felt her ears prick up at the sound of his name, and gritted her teeth as she forced them down again. She glanced over to Hywel to see if he had noticed her momentary lapse in composure, but luckily he was still looking at Nataly.</p><p>“Oh, good,” Clement said. “It’s been an age since we’ve all been home. Is he coming down?”</p><p>“In a minute,” Nataly said. “He’s debriefing with Perchet.”</p><p>Tanith crossed her legs in an attempt to appear casual, managing to crack her kneecap against the edge of the table in the process. “<em>Shit</em>.”</p><p>Nataly frowned at her. “You okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” Tanith said, too quickly. “Fine.”</p><p>In truth, her heart was pounding in her chest. She was nervous at the prospect of seeing Blackwall again, far more nervous than she would have expected. They had been thrown together reluctantly for their mission to Orzammar, but had grown closer over the weeks they had spent in each other’s company— rather too close, by the end. Tanith had assumed that their brief dalliance would cease when they returned to Fort Astor, but Perchet had sent Blackwall off on another recruitment trip before the two of them even had opportunity to discuss it. What they had been through in Orzammar had been by turns awful, terrifying and heartbreaking, the kind of experience that changes a person. But they had at least been together. Blackwall’s sudden absence had been jarring, especially when he was the only other person in the world who knew the full extent of what they had discovered in the Deep Roads. Tanith had thought she would be relieved to see him again, but now he had returned she found herself near sick with anxiety.</p><p>She leafed through the book Clement had given her, wanting something to do with her hands, scanning the pages without absorbing any of the words. When her companions called out a greeting she felt her stomach lurch, and waited a few pointed seconds before looking up.</p><p>So strange, to see him after so long. Blackwall looked much the same as she remembered him, if a little road-weary. Tanith bit the inside of her mouth as he approached their table, fighting to keep her traitorous ears under control. Not that it mattered; he was looking everywhere in the room apart from at her.</p><p>“Welcome back,” Clement said. “Have much luck?”</p><p>“A little,” Blackwall said. “Couple of Imperial deserters in Val Foret. Nothing to write home about.”</p><p>“You promised me a recruit from the White Spire,” Hywel said. “What happened to that?”</p><p>“The First Enchanter and I had a difference of opinion over how many mages the order was allowed to ‘requisition’,” he said, his brow furrowing. “Her words.”</p><p>Tanith found herself smiling a little at his expression. She had seen it a thousand times when they were travelling together, that familiar scowl.</p><p>Of course he picked that moment, when she was grinning like an idiot in his direction, to turn around and look at her for the first time.</p><p>“How are you?” he asked, a little stiffly.</p><p>“I’m fine,” she said. “How are you?”</p><p>“Fine. And you?”</p><p>Tanith arched an eyebrow.“Still fine.”</p><p>“Right.” Blackwall shook his head, cheeks colouring noticeably above his beard. “Of course.”</p><p>Nataly looked from one of them to the other, her expression far too suspicious for Tanith’s liking. She turned her attention back to the book, silently praying that someone else would pick up the conversation.</p><p>Clement, Maker bless him, started chattering away soon enough, and not long afterwards the conversation had turned to other things. Tanith forced herself to sit there for another quarter of an hour, pretending to read, knowing that it would look odd if she left now. She was incredibly conscious of her face and her hands and the way she was sitting, as though merely existing in the world was suddenly a concerted effort. Blackwall had taken the seat furthest away from her, a decision for her that she was both grateful for and annoyed by. Tanith did not especially want to speak to him in front of everyone else, but was vaguely offended that he seemed to feel the same way.</p><p>As soon as she deemed it appropriate Tanith picked up her book and left, saying some vague goodbyes without really paying attention to what anyone was saying to her. Her face burned as she walked back up the steps to the keep proper. She was furious at herself for her reaction to seeing him, feeling foolish and irritated and a little sad all at once. This wasn’t at all how she’d pictured it, and she’d pictured it often enough.</p><p>There was a narrow passageway at the back of the keep that led out to the island below. Tanith walked through it, and from there followed the dirt path that wound down to a small cove. It was a spot she had discovered not long after returning to Fort Astor, a quiet pebble beach which she often liked to visit when she needed to be alone with her thoughts. She sat there now, looking out at the sea where it lapped against the thousands of smooth black stones. The breeze cooled her cheeks a little, calming her.</p><p>For the last three months Tanith had been harbouring a small, secret fear that things would be different when Blackwall finally returned. That the months apart might undo some of the easy companionship that had grown between them in Orzammar, that when they saw each other again they would go right back to being strangers.</p><p>Well, it seemed as though that fear was justified. Tanith picked up a stone and threw it out across the water, feeding a little magic into the motion to make it travel further. Well, she thought, what else had she expected? Theirs had been an intimacy of convenience, sharpened by the trials they had been through together. Of course it wouldn’t be the same now things were back to normal.</p><p>Foolish to think otherwise, really.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Hunger For A Forgotten Face</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It did not take Blackwall long to settle back into life at Fort Astor. Between the mission to Orzammar and his most recent recruitment journey it had been almost half a year since he had spent any significant time at the keep, and it was a relief to be back inside the familiar walls. For the first few mornings he woke expecting the blank stone of the Tabris compound or the packed dirt of the roadside, and it would take him a moment to remember where he was. While he was perfectly happy with his life of travelling, such breaks were necessary. There was a fatigue that came with unfamiliar places, with months spent footsore in the elements, with the often unrewarding work of conscription. Here, at least, things never changed. Fort Astor was a compass rose, the centre of all directions.</p><p>On the third day he and Nataly made plans to meet in the keep’s recruitment office, a tiny, windowless room on the first floor of the tower. It was rare for them to both be in residence at once, on these occasions they always made time to update their records together. It was punishingly dull work, and better carried out in company. The names of every recruit needed to be entered in the order’s ledger books, along with their place and method of conscription, their physical features, and any known family details. The latter two pieces of information were used in the instances where recruits defected or, more commonly, when they died in the line of duty. Perchet made a concerted effort to contact the families of every conscript who did not survive the Joining. Blackwall and Nataly, having a great deal of quiet respect for this, always strove to keep their records up to date so the Warden-Constable could more easily carry out that thankless task.</p><p>The first hour of their work was dull as dishwater, as it usually was, but as they fell into a comfortable rhythm it became easier to bear. Nataly read out the locations of recent conscriptions as she entered them into the ledgers, and Blackwall placed corresponding pins into the large map of Orlais that covered one wall. Mapping out where their recent successes had taken place allowed them to plan for future recruitment journeys — and helped to avoid the ire of lords who disliked too much Warden activity on their lands.</p><p>“Kellin,” Nataly said, writing along with her words. “Halamshiral, volunteer. Elf, blonde hair, tall. Some skill in archery. Parents dead, sister is a servant at the Winter Palace. Died during his Joining.”</p><p>Blackwall took a silver pin from one of the jars on the table and pushed it into the map above Halamshiral. Silver for those who died, gold for those who survived. The silver pins that covered the surface of Orlais far outnumbered the gold. It was always a sombre task, remembering those who had made their sacrifice prematurely, but it was also essential. Those who gave their lives to the order should not die forgotten.</p><p>“Cilla,” Nataly said. “Lydes, conscripted from the city jail. Human, red haired, scarring across one arm. Cutpurse. Mother in the merchant district, two daughters. Died during her Joining. Shit.” The dwarf pushed her chair back from the table, rubbing a hand over her shorn skull. “Did I really lose that many this year?”</p><p>Blackwall turned from the map to face her. Nataly’s eyes were a little hollow, her posture sagging where she sat. As a recruiter, you took responsibility for all those you brought to take their Joining — and, as part of that, took responsibility for their fates as well. Having to list out the names of people whose death you had caused, however inadvertently, was never pleasant.</p><p>“Let’s take a break,” he said, pushing the silver pin into the map before pulling up a chair at the office’s tiny worktable. “It always sounds like a lot when they’re all lined up together.”</p><p>“Doesn’t it just?” Nataly sighed. “Cilla was great. Really, really thought she’d make it. She was so tough.”</p><p>Blackwall nodded gravely. Once or twice a year you’d get a recruit like that, one with promise, who seemed certain to survive the ritual, only for them to die choking on darkspawn blood when they returned to the keep. Every life lost was a waste, but some deaths stung more than others. “It’s not your fault, Nat.”</p><p>“I know,” she said. “Anyway. Can we talk about something else? I’ve barely seen you for months. Must be good to be back.”</p><p>“It is,” he said. “Don’t think I’ve ever been this sick of the road before.”</p><p>“I’m not surprised,” Nataly smirked. “Perchet owes you a vacation.”</p><p>“Maybe when the Deep Roads freeze over.”</p><p>“Speaking of which, how was Orzammar? Tanith’s been…” she trailed off, clearly searching for a polite phrasing. “Unusually tight-lipped.”</p><p>“Not much to tell, really,” Blackwall said, shrugging. He felt guilty about lying to his friend, but there was no other way around it. There were some secrets that were best left buried.</p><p>“Oh, come on,” she said. “You met <em> Lorelei Tabris</em>. You can’t tell me <em> that </em>wasn’t interesting.”</p><p>“That’s one word for it.”</p><p>“What’s she like?” Nataly leaned forward, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Is she really as cracked as people say?”</p><p>“Not entirely,” Blackwall said. “There’s some truth to the rumours. But she’s still loyal to the order, when it comes down to it. I suppose that’s what matters in the end.”</p><p>“Well that’s boring.”</p><p>“Sorry to disappoint.”</p><p>“And what about the city? How did my old stomping ground treat you?”</p><p>Nataly had grown up as minor nobility in Orzammar, Blackwall knew, but she had not returned since leaving for the Wardens some ten years before. During his time in the underground city he had often tried to imagine her in the Diamond Quarter, standing among the clusters of bejewelled nobles, but had never quite been able to picture it.</p><p>“It’s… different,” Blackwall said, with what he hoped was a modicum of tact. “I’ll say that much for it.”</p><p>“You’re telling me,” she said. “First time I came up here I thought I was going to pass out. So much <em> nothing </em>above your head. Must be strange the other way around too.”</p><p>There was something wistful in her voice, Blackwall thought. “Do you miss it?” he asked.</p><p>Nataly seemed to consider this for a moment, her dark eyes far away. “Sometimes. I miss the food. Miss not having to deal with weather. Miss hearing the stone.” She pulled a face. “But I don’t miss most of the people. Don’t miss all the <em>roles</em>.”</p><p>“You’ve never struck me as someone who’d be happy sitting idle in a palace.”</p><p>“Definitely not,” she said. “No, this is better. Even if you people love rain and don’t know what a spice is.”</p><p>“I’m not in a hurry to go back.”</p><p>“I bet.” Nataly’s expression turned suddenly serious. “I still can’t believe you went to the roads. Can’t believe you went to the roads and <em> lived</em>.”</p><p>Blackwall suppressed a shiver. He tried not to think about the Deep Roads, those great dark tunnels under the world, the stench of corruption and the humming in his skull. “It was a close enough thing.”</p><p>“Everyone in Orzammar’s got a story,” she said. “A cousin or a friend of a friend, someone who went down to the Deep Roads and never came back. Or they did, but came back different. Used to scare me to death when I was a kid. Would lay awake at night thinking about the darkspawn breaking through the seals.”</p><p>“So you became a Grey Warden?”</p><p>“The irony isn’t lost on me,” Nataly said. “But it’s a kind of… I don’t know. Like a tiny revenge every time I kill one. The darkspawn must have murdered a bunch of my ancestors, right? Least I can do is take a few of them out in return.”</p><p>Blackwall had never known Nataly to talk this much about her past. It was common, among the Wardens, to keep their histories private. There were enough people in the order who wanted to distance themselves from who they had been before, himself included, that they tended to keep circumspect. Not asking questions about such things was an unspoken rule in Fort Astor. But it was interesting, hearing the dwarf talk about her home city. While he was there Blackwall had been focused on other matters, and he had given little thought to what it must have been like to grow up there, so close to the lair of the horde.</p><p>“How was Tanith?” Nataly asked suddenly, the question snapping Blackwall sharply from his train of thought.</p><p>“What do you mean?”</p><p>“You know,” she said. “New recruit in the Deep Roads. Couldn’t have been fun for her. She hasn’t talked about it much.”</p><p>Blackwall tried to get his thoughts in order. He felt distinctly uncomfortable discussing Tanith at all, convinced somehow that merely speaking her name would give away everything that had happened between them. “She handled herself well,” he said. “Well enough to survive.”</p><p>Nataly gave him a strange look. “You know that surviving isn’t the be all and end all, right? You can survive something and still have it fuck you up.”</p><p>“Is she alright?” Blackwall asked, suddenly concerned.</p><p>“As far as I know,” Nataly said. “She’s just been a little secretive about the whole thing. Makes me wonder whether it affected her more than she’s letting on.”</p><p>It wasn’t especially surprising that Tanith was being secretive. They had amassed enough secrets between them during those long days under the earth, not to mention the ones that had followed.</p><p>“We should get back to it,” Blackwall said. “We’ll be here all night, otherwise.”</p><p>“Alright,” Nataly said. “Switch with me a while?”</p><p>Blackwall took her seat by the ledger book, and she took up his position by the map.</p><p>“Arno,” he said, scratching the name on the next blank line. “Churneau, volunteer. Stocky, bald, green eyes. No family. Died during his Joining.”</p><p>Their work took them all through the day and deep into the evening. They took it in turns to fetch food from the kitchens, eating at the small office table as they worked through half a year of records and planned the year to come. They had another three months of agreeable weather before winter would keep them at Fort Astor a while, and both knew that Perchet expected more of them during this final stretch. They split the map up between them, planning out journeys that would ensure they covered the most amount of ground in as little time as possible, identifying places where they had good relationships with the guard or poor relationships with the nobility. Recruitment was not simply a matter of wandering the countryside, hoping that you bumped into someone who might be a fit for the order. It required planning, diplomacy, an almost encyclopedic knowledge of the Grey Warden treaties and their uses. It required, in short, paperwork.</p><p>It was late by the time Blackwall returned to his room. He was exhausted, hoping for a night of dreamless sleep. Tomorrow he would wake and go down to the training yard, attempt to sharpen the skills that softened during his long months without combat.</p><p>When he opened the door to his chamber something fell to the floor, landing lightly on the stone threshold. Blackwall leaned down to pick it up. It was a scrap of paper, folded twice over itself, likely wedged into the doorframe and let loose when he had opened it. Inside were written two words in a scrawling hand; <em> kitchen, midnight</em>.</p><p>The note was unsigned, but Blackwall could guess who it was from. He had hardly seen Tanith since his return to the keep, her absence too frequent for mere coincidence. She was avoiding him, and he couldn’t blame her for it. On the road he had thought often about what he would say when he saw her again, how he would handle that first meeting. What he had not prepared for was seeing her in a group, surrounded by others and unable to speak candidly. Blackwall had panicked, ignored her, hoping that eventually they would be left alone. Nothing so fortuitous had happened, of course, and instead she had disappeared entirely. Until now.</p><p>He attempted to master himself as he made his way down the tower steps, trying not to pay too much attention to the rapid beating of his heart. Ridiculous, to feel nervous at the prospect of seeing her, when until so recently they had been in each other’s presence every day. But his months away from Tanith had given him time to doubt. It was easy to forget, when he was with her, how unwise their intimacy was. He outranked her; she was yet to complete her training; they had been on business for the order. While not strictly forbidden, these things complicated matters. The Warden-Constable would certainly not approve.</p><p>Foolishly, he and Tanith had never discussed what would happen once they returned to the keep. They were too occupied with putting Orzammar from their minds, with denial, with each other. There had never been a good moment for such a conversation, and when Perchet had sent him away on recruitment that window of opportunity had passed.</p><p>Blackwall paused for a moment outside the kitchen door, steeling himself. Tanith’s moods were fickle. It was impossible to tell whether he would walk in and find her furious, hurt, amorous, cold. But, he decided, this mattered little; she was a force of nature, and whether he was about to be met with a hurricane or a forest fire was immaterial.</p><p>He opened the door, making a point to turn the handle firmly so she would hear him coming. Tanith was leaning against one of the long counters that lined the walls of the room, staring out of the window as she took a bite out of the apple in her hand. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, curls catching the lamplight, and her legs were bare beneath her nightshirt. For a moment Blackwall paused where he stood. He was struck with an image of her in some inn on the Fereldan border, tangled in the bedsheets, a lazy smile on her face as she made some teasing joke. Had that only been a season before? It felt like something that had happened to someone else, a long time ago.</p><p>Tanith looked up at the sound of his footsteps. She took the last bite from her apple then threw the core out of the open window, wiping her fingers on her nightshirt.</p><p>“You wanted to see me?” Blackwall asked, his mouth suddenly dry.</p><p>She chewed, swallowed, then nodded. “I did,” she said. “Sorry about the subterfuge. Getting some privacy in this place is like… well. You know what it’s like.”</p><p>“I’m surprised I haven’t seen you sooner.”</p><p>Tanith gave a small, embarrassed smile. “I may have developed a convenient headache that meant I couldn’t leave my room for a few days,” she said. “But then it started to feel a little silly.”</p><p>So she had been avoiding him, then. The knowledge was almost a relief. Better for her to be as concerned about their reunion as he was, rather than thinking nothing of it.</p><p>“How have you been?” he asked.</p><p>“Well enough,” she shrugged. “It’s odd. Not being able to talk about what happened with Tabris. Sometimes I feel like I dreamed it.”</p><p>“Sounds familiar,” Blackwall said. “You’ve not changed your mind, then? About keeping what she told us quiet?”</p><p>“No,” Tanith said firmly. “No, not at all. Have you?”</p><p>Blackwall shook his head. “I’m more than happy to let the Warden-Commander have her secrets.”</p><p>“Good.” She let out a long sigh, as though she had been expecting him to disagree. The light was low in the kitchen, putting half of her face in shadow. “You were gone a long time.”</p><p>“I know.” Blackwall opened his mouth to say <em> I missed you</em>, then thought better of it. “It wasn’t ideal timing, was it?”</p><p>“It really wasn’t.” Tanith wrinkled her nose at him. “We need to talk, don’t we?”</p><p>“Probably.”</p><p>She walked over to the large table in the centre of the kitchen, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of it. Nothing in her posture gave anything away, but Blackwall saw the way her ears twitched nervously as she turned to face him.</p><p>“So,” she said. “What happened on the way back from Orzammar…”</p><p>Blackwall let the silence stretch out, hoping that Tanith would finish her sentence, but she seemed to have no intention of doing so. Her head was cocked a little to one side, the gesture expectant.</p><p>“The circumstances were… unusual,” Blackwall said carefully, wanting to gauge her reaction before making any definite statements. “After everything that happened…”</p><p>Tanith nodded. “We went a little mad back there for a while, don’t you think?” she said. “Maybe Tabris rubbed off on us.”</p><p>“Maybe,” Blackwall laughed. “I don’t think I was quite in my right mind.”</p><p>“Me neither. I mean, who would be?” Tanith made an expansive gesture. “We nearly <em> died</em>. <em> Multiple </em> times. No one’s going to be thinking straight after that, are they?”</p><p>“Of course not.”</p><p>Blackwall felt something tighten in his stomach. There was a part of him that was relieved that she wanted to dismiss what had happened between them. It would be easier that way, certainly. But still he felt sour, unsure. He looked at her, at the way she folded her hands in her lap, the firm curl of her lip, and suddenly couldn’t decide what it was that he wanted.</p><p>“It was a bad idea, wasn’t it?” she said.</p><p>“It was.” Not a lie. It <em> had </em> been a bad idea, by any sane measure.</p><p>Tanith glanced up at him, eyes wary behind her lashes. “But we can still be friends, can’t we?”</p><p>“Maker, of course.” He took a step towards her, suddenly serious. “That wasn’t in contention, Tan. No matter what happened—”</p><p>“It’s okay,” she said, smiling. “That’s all I wanted to know.”</p><p>For a moment they were quiet, the low roaring of the ocean filling the space between them. There was still something hanging in the air, some words still going unsaid. Tanith tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, exposing the freckled slope of her cheekbone. Then she sighed, and hopped down from the table.</p><p>“So we’re agreed then?” she said, resting her hands on her hips. “What happened at the inn was a mistake.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And on the road outside Jader.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“And in that forest.”</p><p>“Yes.” He thought for a moment. “And by the river.”</p><p>“Oh, the <em> river</em>.” Tanith looked off into the distance, her voice a little dreamy. “I forgot about the river. That was at least three mistakes.”</p><p>Blackwall laughed at that. He <em> had </em>missed her, her quips, her dry way of speaking. Until now he hadn’t realised quite how much.</p><p>“Well,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Glad we got that sorted out. Goodnight, then.”</p><p>“Goodnight.”</p><p>Tanith walked three steps towards the door, paused, then turned slowly on her heel. She looked up at him, dark eyes glinting in the lamplight.</p><p>“One more mistake wouldn’t make a difference, right?”</p><p>“Definitely not.”</p><p>He crossed the floor in two quick strides, felt her smile against his lips as he kissed her. The taste of apple was still on her mouth, sharp and crisp as a summer morning. Tanith wrapped her arms around his neck, her touch as warm and insistent as he remembered, her body as soft against his.</p><p>When he picked her up and lifted her back onto the table she laughed, the high sound of it finally dispelling whatever tension remained between them. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, her mouth hot against his throat, her heels impatient where they dug into the small of his back. So difficult it had been to speak to her, yet this was as easy as breathing.</p><p>People often came into the kitchen at odd hours, and so they wasted no time on gentle touches. It was a quiet, urgent thing, all clawing and heat, Tanith breathing hard against his ear as he kissed the curve of her jaw. It woke every memory of those few heady days on the road to Val Chevin, the ones Blackwall had been trying to put from his mind ever since. Pointless to keep up the pretense now. Tanith was not a woman who allowed herself to be forgotten.</p><p>When it was over she climbed lightly down from the table, adjusting the hem of her nightshirt with an impressive amount of decorum. Blackwall was always surprised by how small she was, barely standing to his chin in her stocking feet. Something about her personality belied her height.</p><p>Tanith frowned at him, reaching up to poke at the tender spot where her teeth had been a moment earlier. “Might want to wear a scarf for a few days,” she said.</p><p>“I’ll bear that in mind,” he chuckled.</p><p>Regardless of whether or not their indiscretion had been a good idea, it had certainly banished any lingering awkwardness between them. Blackwall felt comfortable in her presence again, slipping back into the same easy rapport they had enjoyed in Orzammar. It was a profound relief. What a waste it would have been, to grow that close to her for nothing.</p><p>“Well.” Tanith leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. When she stepped away her expression was warm, a little wry. “I guess I’ll see you around.”</p><p>“I imagine you will.”</p><p>She shook her head, laughing to herself, then turned and padded quietly out of the kitchen. Blackwall remained behind for a while, staring out of the open window as he caught his breath. The Waking Sea was as still as it ever was, the reflection of the moon almost a perfect circle on the water.</p><p>They had made the right decision, he was sure of it. If things had been allowed to continue between them it would have certainly caused problems sooner or later. Better this way, he told himself.</p><p>He told himself the same as he walked back through the mess hall, as he climbed the stairs of the tower, as he let himself back into his room. He was still convincing himself of this unassailable truth when sleep finally found him, some long hours later.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Those Who Bear False Witness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. </em>
</p><p>Tanith had heard those words a hundred times. They were in the sermons preached by the lay sisters who came to the alienage, offering bread in return for piousness. It was a mantra oft-repeated, a warning, and the only part of the Chant of Light that Tanith had ever listened closely to. Her mother had a different way of phrasing it. <em> Magic is a curse</em>, she had said. <em> And you must learn to live without it. </em></p><p>As a child, Tanith had never understood this assertion. Magic was as innate to her as the beating of her heart, as natural as taking air into her lungs. She could feel it webbing through the world, and took great pleasure in plucking at those threads until her skin prickled with the power of it. But doing so had often earned her sharp words, and there were worse punishments for using the magic that she channelled. It was fear, she knew now. Fear of the Templars, fear of being taken away to the Circle, fear of being murdered as an apostate.</p><p>Still, at the time it had seemed an injustice. Tanith had suppressed her magic reluctantly, fighting the urge to reach for those bright lines of power whenever she was in danger, and over time had grown accustomed to living without it. Her talent had atrophied, grown withered like a muscle unused. She was still able to cast spells, but they were erratic things, unpredictable, leeching more strength from her than they should. Hywel was training her to master the flow of energy through her body, making sure she drew only as much power as was necessary and used it in the most effective way possible.</p><p>Or, at least, he was trying to. Whenever Tanith reached towards the Veil she was overwhelmed by the scale of it, unable to draw with any precision. It was like filling a thimble from a waterfall. All she could do was dart beneath it, hoping that she came out the other side with the measure she needed. Sometimes her spells were too wild, huge, uncontrolled surges that left the air crackling around her. Occasionally they barely worked at all, dissolving to nothing as she cast them. It was a source of endless frustration to her that she could not seem to get a handle on her talent. Most of Thedas would define her solely by her magical ability, and yet it was as unknowable to her as the moon.</p><p>Even Hywel was beginning to run out of ideas. He had tried educating her through exercises, meditation, duels, even long lessons on theory, but none of these seemed to stick. Tanith’s power remained unstable, and while she was capable of casting spells when needed they were random, inelegant things, as likely to damage her or her comrades as an enemy.</p><p>So, when Hywel had told her to expect something different for that day’s lesson, Tanith was intrigued. She rushed through her breakfast of warm bread and sausage, washing it down with soft cider before hurrying out to the practice yard. To her surprise she found both Hywel and Clement waiting for her, the latter wearing the sort of plate armour usually reserved for campaigns.</p><p>“Morning,” Tanith said, glancing between them. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“It struck me that it would be rare for you to meet another mage on the battlefield,” Hywel said without preamble. “When you were in the Deep Roads you fought more than emissaries, I imagine.”</p><p>“Don’t think I even saw an emissary,” Tanith said. Almost the truth. She had seen one— just not in combat.</p><p>“Exactly,” Hywel said. “I worry that I’m leaving you ill-prepared, training you to counter magic with magic. You need to learn how to engage other kinds of enemies.”</p><p>“That’s me.” Clement gave her a cheerful wave.</p><p>“So I’m fighting him,” Tanith said slowly, looking askance at the warrior. “Couldn’t that go very wrong?”</p><p>“This is blunted.” Clement pointed to the sword he was holding. “And Hy has assured me that he will step in if there is any danger of my being set ablaze. I have chosen to trust him on this point, and hope that this will not prove unwise.”</p><p>“Ma’arlath, you’ll be fine,” Hywel said. “But still, Tanith, the goal here is not to cause damage. It is to slow, to disarm, to repel. Drawing the attention of warriors is not an advisable strategy for a mage. It is better to hinder them, and allow your comrades to finish the job.”</p><p>“So if a man with a sword is attacking me I’m not supposed to kill him?” she asked.</p><p>“If you are alone, certainly,” Hywel said. “But there should never be a circumstance in which this is the case. There is a reason Grey Wardens are not sent out to handle the darkspawn by themselves. We play to our strengths. We balance one another. As mages, it is our job to support. Weakening enemies, healing allies, controlling the field. There is no point teaching you mastery of your power without first addressing its application. That was an oversight, on my part.”</p><p>“Right,” Tanith said, unconvinced. “So he’ll attack me, but I can’t let him hit me, and you want me to fight him, but not hurt him?”</p><p>“Oh, you can hurt him,” Hywel said. “Just try not to kill him.”</p><p>“Second that,” Clement said.</p><p>“Ideally he will never touch you at all,” Hywel said. “If he lays hand or weapon on you the bout is over. The longer you can keep him away, the better.”</p><p>“How?” she asked.</p><p>“That’s up to you.” Her trainer gave a benevolent smile, tailor-made to annoy her. “Use your imagination.”</p><p>Tanith knew what he meant. Hywel could do clever, subtle things with his magic, things that paralysed and protected, that slowed and hastened and bolstered as needed. Her own limited skills were aggressive, combative, relying heavily on fire and lightning and stone. Manipulating the elements came naturally to her, but she could no more set a ward than fly to the top of the tower. Still Hywel pushed her to try, to attempt these more elegant spells despite her lack of technique.</p><p>“Alright then,” Tanith shrugged, hefting her staff into one hand. “Let’s give it a go.”</p><p>Clement walked back to one end of the courtyard, lifting his shield in front of him as he turned to face her. Feeling distinctly uneasy, Tanith took a few slow steps towards him. When she had been fighting darkspawn she simply threw everything she had at them with little thought for the consequences, and with Hywel she trusted that he would be able to counter most of her attacks. Aside from the incident with the chevalier she had never attacked a person like this before. Not with magic.</p><p>“Ready?” Hywel said.</p><p>They both nodded.</p><p>“Begin.”</p><p>Clement didn’t hesitate. Holding his shield a little higher, he ran in Tanith’s direction, blunted blade clutched firmly at his side. She knew a second of blind panic before her body reacted, pointing her staff at the ground before the warrior’s feet. A sheet of ice spread out atop the earth, causing Clement to lose his footing and stumble.</p><p>“Good!” Hywel called, the approval clear in his voice. “Keep it going!”</p><p>Encouraged by this, Tanith used the moments that Clement spent recovering to find her focus. She tried to concentrate on her breathing, the slow rise and fall of her chest, and pulled carefully at the strands of magic running through the world. Hywel had tried to show her a certain kind of magic once, a way to manipulate the mind of an enemy to make them sluggish and disoriented. He had explained it to her thus; as magic could heal a body, so it could damage it. Pushing a little at a person’s corporeal form threw them off balance, upset their delicate mechanisms like shaking a carriage clock. Tanith tried to hold that analogy in her mind as she directed her magic out towards Clement, now standing again, pictured rattling his body as she sent a pulse of energy in his direction.</p><p>He took a step back when it washed over him, swaying on his feet a little and placing a hand to his head as though it pained him. While he rallied quickly, Tanith could see that whatever she had done had worked. Clement moved with less grace as he charged in her direction, his weapon raised high.</p><p>Another thing Tanith knew — and this was a lesson that far predated Hywel — was that, in a pinch, magic was not always the best strategy. When Clement swung his sword in her direction she rolled out of the way of the blow, bringing her staff up to meet his skull as she came to her feet. It met his head with a sharp <em> crack</em>, sending him staggering a few steps forwards, and she took the opportunity to dart out of his reach.</p><p>“Da’len!” Hywel shouted. “<em>Magic</em>.”</p><p>Tanith scowled. She and Hywel had a difference of opinion over whether hitting someone with a staff was a valid approach to combat.</p><p>Soon Clement was pressing his advantage again, his wide, precise movements giving Tanith little opportunity to do anything but run. She found herself almost scrambling to keep away from him, unable to focus on her magic for more than a few seconds. If he kept this up she would lose, and she was sick to the teeth of losing.</p><p>Tanith remembered a spell that Hywel had described to her once. He explained how a talented mage could manipulate arcane energy as though it were corporeal, and could use the threads of it to bind a man as surely as any rope. If done correctly, a mage could immobilise a foe twice their size without ever touching them. She tried to catch her breath as she sidestepped another swing of Clement’s sword, concentrating hard on the ethereal presence of the Veil. It was all around her, that web of magic, and she clung to it hard, almost tearing, gathering power to herself as she prepared to strike, trying to shape the energy she held into something real, something tangible, something—</p><p>The world swam around her suddenly, and the ground lurched beneath her feet as she struggled to keep hold of the spell. But it was too late, the swell of it too much, and she felt the magic slip from her like blood from a wound. Her head was spinning with it, leaving her sick and reeling.</p><p>Clement used her momentary confusion to attack in earnest, bashing his shield into her right shoulder with enough force to knock her onto the ground. When she was prone he lifted his sword and pressed the end lightly against her stomach.</p><p>“I think you’re dead,” he said. “Sorry about that.”</p><p>Tanith closed her eyes, swallowing back the nausea that was rising in her throat. It was like being on a deck of a ship, that perpetual motion around her, the numbness in her limbs. The mere idea of sitting up made her want to vomit.</p><p>“Maker, are you alright?” Clement asked, suddenly concerned.</p><p>“Fine,” Tanith said. Her voice rasped in her throat. “Just give me a minute.”</p><p>She heard footsteps, and a moment later both the spinning sensation and the sickness lifted. When she opened her eyes she saw Hywel crouching over her, a haze of blue light around his outstretched hand.</p><p>“That was stupid.” He spoke with no particular inflection, but there was something almost angry in the way his ears lay flat against his skull.</p><p>“I don’t really know what happened,” she said, sitting up gingerly.</p><p>“You drew too much power,” Hywel said. “Your body couldn’t cope with the strain. Fenedhis, Tanith, how many times do we have to go over this?”</p><p>“I didn’t do it deliberately,” she said. “I was <em> trying </em>to ‘use my imagination’. If you’d just let me throw a fireball at him—”</p><p>“You can’t start fires without learning to put them out,” he snapped. “You can’t use magic without mastering your control. If you’re not careful you’ll endanger others as well as yourself.”</p><p>For a moment all Tanith could do was stare at him. She had never seen her trainer anything less than composed before, and this cold fury shocked her into silence. But it wasn’t, she realised, directed entirely at her. Hywel was angry at himself for allowing it to happen, for letting her go so far before intervening. It was an expression she recognised well. She had seen it on her mother’s face, many times.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” she said.</p><p>Hywel sighed, shaking his head. “It’s not your fault,” he said quietly. “A poor sculptor blames his clay.”</p><p>“You did a decent job of slowing me down though,” Clement said, smiling at Tanith in a conciliatory manner. “I don’t know what you did, but one of those spells left me half-thick for a moment.”</p><p>“I’ll give you that.” Hywel held out his hand to Tanith and helped her to her feet. “The first couple of things you tried, those were effective. They were clever. You do have it in you, Tanith.”</p><p>“I’m not so sure about that,” she said. “Maker, why does it feel like it’s getting <em> more </em> difficult?”</p><p>“Because acting on instinct is easy,” Hywel said. “Unlearning those impulses is much harder.”</p><p>Tanith frowned. “Well, my <em> instinct </em> is telling me to go back to bed. Should I ignore that too?”</p><p>Before Hywel could reply they were interrupted by Perchet’s ever-harried runner girl, who jogged up to their group and gestured to get their attention. Her face was pink with exertion, several strands of blonde hair sticking to her damp forehead.</p><p>“Clement,” she panted. “Tanith. Warden-Constable’s office, now.”</p><p>“Why?” Tanith asked.</p><p>“Maker, I don’t know.” The girl scowled. “Not my job to tell you why. Just go.” She turned around, heading back towards the keep at a brisk clip.</p><p>Tanith glanced up at Clement, but he looked just as confused as she was.</p><p>“Odd,” he said. “What would old Margot want to see both of us for?”</p><p>“Maybe Odette found out about our secret book-borrowing cabal.”</p><p>Clement snorted. “Merciful Andraste, I hope not.”</p><p>“Well,” Hywel said. “If you get exiled, come and say goodbye first.”</p><p>They made their way swiftly to the Warden-Constable’s office, both knowing that it was unwise to keep her waiting. On their way through the keep they speculated on the reason for their summons, but reached no conclusions. Beyond their friendly acquaintance the pair barely knew one another.</p><p>“Maybe she’s throwing a surprise party for Hywel,” Tanith said.</p><p>“Can you imagine?” Clement laughed. “I don’t think the Warden-Constable’s the party type.”</p><p>“That’s why it would be a surprise.”</p><p>When they reached Perchet’s office Clement rapped his knuckles against the door and she called for them to enter. The Warden-Constable was sitting behind her desk, the room around her as neat and orderly as the last time Tanith had seen it. Perchet gestured for them to sit down, then smoothed her hand over her silver hair. She looked exhausted, more so than usual.</p><p>“Thank you for coming so promptly,” she said. “The matter I need to discuss with you is somewhat delicate, and time is of the essence.”</p><p>Tanith felt a little queasy. The last time she had been involved in a ‘delicate matter’ she had almost wound up murdered in the Deep Roads.</p><p>“Sounds intriguing,” Clement said. “Go on.”</p><p>Perchet picked up a letter from her desk. “I have received several reports of darkspawn activity in the south,” she said. “Localised in one area, steadily increasing over the past few months. One farmstead was burned to the ground by the creatures, and there have been cases of Blight sickness in the village nearby.”</p><p>“Maker’s blood,” Clement said, his face ashen. “A handful of darkspawn couldn’t do that.”</p><p>“No, they couldn’t,” Perchet said. “It is my belief that a fissure has opened somewhere nearby. A large one. I have sent a number of letters to the local lord, requesting leave to investigate, but so far they have all gone unanswered.”</p><p>“What?” Clement frowned. “Who owns the lands?”</p><p>Perchet gave him a long, level look. “Your father.”</p><p>Clement sank back into his chair, letting out a slow breath. If he seemed concerned before, now he looked utterly wretched. “He’s not responded at all?”</p><p>“No,” the Warden-Constable said. “I’m afraid not.”</p><p>“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” He turned to Tanith. “My father wasn’t exactly delighted about my joining the Wardens, you see. He’s had a bit of a grudge against the order ever since.”</p><p>“A big enough grudge to ignore the darkspawn?” Tanith asked.</p><p>“I wouldn’t have thought so,” Clement said. “He’s a stubborn old goat, but I didn’t think he’d let people <em> die </em> just to make a point. Perhaps I was wrong.” His brow furrowed, the grave expression strange on his boyish face.</p><p>“Your father is hosting a tourney on his estate in two weeks’ time,” Perchet continued. “The Grey Wardens have a right to recruit at any such competition on Orlesian soil, as I’m sure you recall. If we send a contingent, Duke Maxim is duty-bound to cooperate. He does not, however, have an obligation to host us.” She gave Clement a significant look.</p><p>“I think I’m starting to see what this is about,” he said. “You want me to get us inside the estate.”</p><p>“It would be immeasurably helpful if you could write to your father and request this,” Perchet said. “Whatever reasons your father has for ignoring our missives, we must find out what they are and quickly. The closer we can get to him, the better.”</p><p>“He won’t just tell us, you know,” Clement said. “Father <em> hates </em> the Wardens. Even if he allows us to stay at Chateau Lavigne, he won’t take kindly to us prying into his business.”</p><p>“This is why we must be careful in our approach,” the Warden-Constable said. “Nataly and Blackwall will attend on recruitment business, yourself as our ambassador to Duke Maxim. And you,” she said, turning towards Tanith, “will do what you can to investigate.”</p><p>“What?” Tanith asked stupidly. For the last several minutes she had been wondering why Perchet had requested her presence at this meeting, but this was not a scenario she had envisioned. “Why me?”</p><p>The Warden-Constable fixed her with those piercing eyes, pale blue and sharp as a hawk’s. “Because you have proven yourself proficient in that area,” she said. “Blackwall informed me that what little information you were able to gather on Tabris was a result of your efforts. Apparently you have a knack for espionage.”</p><p>Tanith and Blackwall had debriefed with Perchet upon their return from Orzammar, and she was certain that he had said nothing of the sort. He must have spoken to the Warden-Constable later, without telling her.</p><p>“So you want me to spy?” Tanith said. “Again?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t phrase it so bluntly,” Perchet said. “I want you to listen. To find out what you can. Closing the fissure is of paramount importance, and I need you to find out what is preventing this from happening.”</p><p>“What makes you think I’ll have any luck? Human nobles aren’t famous for their love of elves. If someone’s orchestrating a grand conspiracy I doubt they’ll talk to me about it.”</p><p>“You are a Grey Warden now,” Perchet said. “That lends you some standing. Aside from that, I trust to your ingenuity. It may even work in your favour, if some are quick to dismiss you. People let things slip when they’re not paying attention.”</p><p>As much as Tanith hated to admit it, Perchet wasn’t far off the mark. How many times had she done a day’s labour in the market at Montfort, eavesdropping on the nobles as they traded salacious gossip across the stalls? Being an elf was as good as being invisible, sometimes.</p><p>“Fair enough,” Tanith said. “I’ll give it a try.”</p><p>Clement turned to face her, his eyebrows raised comically high. “You’re going to spy on my father?”</p><p>For a moment Tanith was worried that Clement would take offence to the idea, but instead he let out a small laugh.</p><p>“Oh, Maker. Good luck.”</p><p>“So, Clement,” the Warden-Constable said, turning her attention back to him. “I trust that you will write to the Duke tonight? The sooner we can secure a visit, the better.”</p><p>“On one condition,” Clement said, holding up a finger. “I’ll do it so long as Hy can come with us when we go. If I have to spend time with my family I’m going to need moral support.”</p><p>Perchet sighed, then waved a hand in dismissal. “Fine.”</p><p>“Very well,” he grinned. “I’ll ask dear father for his hospitality. No guarantees, though. He’ll likely just ignore me as well.”</p><p>“I doubt that somehow.” The Warden-Constable leaned her elbows against the desk, looking every one of her years. “Good day, then. Let me know as soon as you have an answer.”</p><p>Tanith and Clement left Perchet’s office and wandered back down towards the main part of the keep. Clement seemed unusually pensive, his mouth a thin line as they climbed down the tower steps.</p><p>“Are you alright?” Tanith asked.</p><p>“Oh, fine,” he said. “I just wasn’t expecting… this.”</p><p>“I take it you and your family don’t get on?” She phrased it as a question, though she already knew the answer. Blackwall had told her a little of Clement’s history, implying that his departure from home had not been entirely amicable.</p><p>“Depends on the family member.” Clement gave her half a smile. “But my father and I haven’t always seen eye to eye. Especially not since I joined the order. I’ve always <em> hated </em>the Game.”</p><p>“I don’t know much about it.”</p><p>Tanith was dimly aware of the Grand Game, the complex machinations for which the Orlesian court was famed, though the specifics were a mystery to her. What the nobles got up to in their estates was hardly a concern of hers — although, it seemed, it was about to be.</p><p>“Count yourself lucky.” Clement grimaced. “All that politicking, all those secrets. Never saw the point in it myself, though my father’s always played it well. You’ll have your work cut out.”</p><p>“Can’t be worse than the Deep Roads, right?”</p><p>“I don’t know. You’ve never been to an Orlesian dinner party.”</p><p>“Lovely,” she said. “A whole new world of terrors.”</p><p>Clement chuckled. “Don’t worry. Presuming my father decides to host us at all, we’ve two weeks to prepare. I’ll give you a crash course in navigating the perils of the court.”</p><p>“Hmm,” Tanith said. “Do you think I could just go back to the Deep Roads instead?”</p><p>“If you do,” Clement said, “make sure to take me with you.”</p><p>They wandered back to the training yard, but after Tanith’s earlier brush with disaster neither of them felt much like a repeat performance. Hywel was too interested in this new development to argue, and the three of them instead retired to the mess to discuss it.</p><p>Blackwall and Nataly were already there when they arrived, and the group gathered around their usual table to talk. There was an empty space on the bench next to Blackwall and Tanith sat down next to him, smiling in his direction even as she kept a careful distance. It had been a week since their encounter in the kitchens, and in the days since they had managed to maintain something that was almost like a friendship. Still, there was something a little strange about being this close to him now that their intimacy had come to an end. Every now and again Tanith had to stop herself touching his hand or leaning against his shoulder as she might have done on their journey back from Orzammar.</p><p>Clement explained Perchet’s request for the benefit of their friends, and before long everyone was offering up suggestions, questions, theories. Nataly seemed the most concerned about the fissure, which made sense. Orzammar dwarves had a more intimate knowledge of the darkspawn than most, and the Blight sickness in particular. Blackwall was mostly focused on his own piece in the mission, mildly irritated that his careful recruitment plans for the upcoming weeks were now scuppered. Oddly it was Hywel who appeared the most put out by the news. He barely spoke at all, and Tanith noticed the distressed slant of his ears when Clement explained where they would be travelling.</p><p>Tanith herself was fairly nonplussed by the prospect of visiting Clement’s family’s estate. The likely outcome seemed obvious to her; Duke Maxim was simply another self-centred noble shem, too lazy to protect his populace. It was a tale as old as time, and she was certain that whatever small amount of spying she was able to carry out would confirm her suspicions.</p><p>“By the way,” Tanith said, pitching her voice so only Blackwall could hear. “I’ve been given this job because, apparently, you told Perchet I was good at spying.”</p><p>“Well,” he said. “You are.”</p><p>“Why? Because I got lucky with Tabris? That was mostly an accident.”</p><p>Blackwall glanced around the table when she spoke the Warden-Commander’s name, as if concerned someone might overhear. “I wasn’t even thinking of Tabris, actually,” he said. “I was thinking of the Commons. How you got the dwarves to tell you what they knew about her.”</p><p>“That doesn’t make me a spy,” Tanith said. “It makes me a gossip.”</p><p>“I have a feeling those might be similar things in the Orlesian court.”</p><p>“But still,” she pressed, elbowing him under the table. “When did you tell Perchet all this? Why did you let me take the credit?”</p><p>“Because you deserved it,” he said, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.</p><p>“And now I’m spying on a Duke,” Tanith said. “With no training and no idea what I’m doing. Thanks for that.”</p><p>“You’ll be fine.” Blackwall nudged her knee with his. “If you annoy him enough perhaps he’ll give up his secrets just to keep you quiet.”</p><p>“Oh, shut up.”</p><p>They bickered quietly in the corner for a while, until Tanith noticed Hywel looking at them with the slightest hint of a question in his eyes. Then she turned her attention back to the rest of the group, pointedly ignoring Blackwall for the remainder of the afternoon. It wouldn’t do for anyone to start getting ideas about them, especially now there was nothing for them to have ideas about.</p><p>Tanith decided to skip her afternoon lesson with Odette, though she knew that the repercussions would not be pleasant. Instead she went down to the pebble beach on the island’s shore, turning over the day’s events as the early autumn sunshine beat down on the back of her neck. The slow roar of the ocean lulled her into an almost trance-like state, the stones under her hands smooth and solid.</p><p>She was to play spy for the Wardens again, this time among the nobility. That in itself was not so daunting, though the prospect of what would happen if she failed did give her a moment’s pause. Perchet still disapproved of her, Tanith was sure, and if she came back empty-handed she did not doubt that she would fall even lower in the Warden-Constable’s estimation. On top of that there was her slow progress in her lessons with Hywel, the secrets from Orzammar she carried somewhere deep in her chest, the little thrill of happiness she still felt every time Blackwall looked in her direction.</p><p>But it was hard to care about any of it in this warm, quiet place, where the gulls circled overhead and the breeze blew gentle against her skin. Patches of pampas grass hid the cove from the keep above, lending the spot a blessed privacy. It was safe here, away from everything else.</p><p>As she sat on the beach Tanith felt the world come into focus around her. All of a sudden the strands of magic that ran through all things were simply <em> there</em>, close enough to touch. She reached out with her mind and they came to her easily, as light and pliable as gossamer. In that moment she felt that she could turn this energy to anything, that it would be the simplest thing in the world to channel it to her will. Why was it never this easy when she needed it, when it was important?</p><p>She let the magic wash over her a while, its touch as steady and constant as the waves. It was a part of her, after all, this power. No matter how much time she had spent pushing it away, it was never truly gone.</p><p>Tanith sat there until her awareness faded, until the world was simply the world again. The she stood up, brushed the sand from her leathers, and headed back up the path to Fort Astor.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Those Who Come To Serve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clement’s father was late in replying to his letter. By the time a response arrived, only a handful of days before the tourney began, it was widely accepted that Duke Maxim had chosen to ignore his son’s request as predicted. But, though late and reluctant, the invitation did come, and the Grey Warden contingent were forced to pack up and leave Fort Astor with little time to spare.</p><p>Perchet provided them with the funds to make the journey to Velun by carriage, given how swiftly they would need to travel. While in some ways this was convenient, it was not especially comfortable. Once one was fifty miles outside of Val Royeaux the Imperial Highway became poorly maintained, the wheels jolting over potholes and cracked masonry every few feet. After several days of this, with only brief rests at cheap inns to break up the journey, their entire party was tired and irritable.</p><p>Blackwall was used to a slower pace of travel, with nothing but the land and the sky for company. Being cooped up in a box with four other people, feeling his teeth rattle with every bump in the road, was far from ideal. Come to that, neither was their mission. The painstaking work he and Nataly had done to map out the autumn’s recruitment had all been for naught. While he understood Perchet’s desire to investigate the potential fissure, tourneys were not the best place to find conscripts. Clement was the exception that proved the rule; despite the Wardens’ right to recruit at such events, he was the only successful case Blackwall had ever heard of. Most of the tourney competitors would be nobility, too proud and privileged to consider the order an option, and whatever rank-and-file soldiers were participating would likely have commissions from the army already. Besides, while the Right of Conscription was always an option, using it in circumstances such as this would be inviting trouble. Most Lords didn’t take too kindly to Grey Wardens cherry-picking the best of their men.</p><p>It seemed excessive to have both of the recruiters travel to Velun, but Blackwall was not in a position to argue with the Warden-Constable once she had made up her mind. Still, by the time they arrived at Chateau Lavigne he was already wishing that he was anywhere else. His back ached from the days of travel, the frayed tempers of his companions were grating on his nerves, and he was almost immediately reminded of how little love he held for the Orlesian nobility.</p><p>It was late in the evening by the time they disembarked from the carriage at the entrance to the estate. A servant greeted them as they climbed down to the paved courtyard, the simple mask he wore glinting in the lamplight. There was something weaselly about his obsequious manner, and Blackwall disliked him on sight.</p><p>“Welcome, Grey Wardens.” The servant turned to Clement, bowing low. “And to you especially, my Lord. Your father will be overjoyed to see you again, I am sure.”</p><p>Clement gave a small, tight laugh. “No need for the ‘Lord’ business, Segal. I’ve not been titled for years now.”</p><p>“Ah. Of course.” The servant’s eyes glittered behind his mask. “My mistake. If you will follow me, Wardens. Duke Maxim is waiting on your arrival.”</p><p>Segal led them up the the stairs to the entrance of the chateau, past a marble fountain and into a wide vestibule. There were armed guards posted at the front doors, the tabards over their armour the same green-and-silver as the servant’s livery. The design worked into the fabric was reminiscent of fish scales, and the tile mosaic that covered the floor was laid out in a similar fashion. The Duke’s sigil, a leaping fish, was present on almost everything; the pennants hanging from the walls, the gilded frame of a long mirror, even the door handles. Every surface and stick of furniture in the room was spotless, the diffuse light from the chandelier catching gold and crystal. It was obscene, really, this kind of wealth. Blackwall didn’t doubt that there were folk living on the estate lands who earned as much in a year as one of the Duke’s candlesticks would fetch at market.</p><p>They followed Segal deeper into the building, through wide corridors as lavishly decorated as the vestibule had been. Occasionally a servant would step quietly through a doorway upon marking their approach, making their presence as small and inoffensive as possible. As they walked Segal espoused platitudes about what an honour it was to have the Wardens at the chateau, how lucky it was they would not miss the first day of the tourney, how much Duke Maxim was looking forward to seeing his youngest son. The set of Clement’s shoulders was stiff as he nodded along to the words.</p><p>Blackwall glanced around at his companions. While Hywel seemed almost as uncomfortable as Clement was, Nataly carried herself casually through the opulent halls. Noble estates were, of course, nothing new to her. Tanith’s expression was almost incredulous as she wandered near the back of their procession, her eyes wide as she took in their surroundings. Blackwall slowed his pace a little, falling into step beside her.</p><p>“So people just live like this, huh?” she asked.</p><p>“Apparently so.”</p><p>Tanith let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “Bastards.”</p><p>“Hideous, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Seriously,” she said. “Used to live near a girl who worked scullery at the de Montfort’s estate. Always thought she was exaggerating when she told us about it. Feel bad for calling her a liar now.”</p><p>“The Duke’s not even that far up the pecking order,” Blackwall said, keeping his voice as quiet as he could. “There’s probably a dozen estates in Orlais even bigger and gaudier than this one.”</p><p>“You want to steal a bunch of silverware and run?”</p><p>He laughed. “Yes. But we shouldn’t.”</p><p>“Fine. I’ll find some other way to entertain myself.”</p><p>After a few more minutes of walking they came to a great set of double doors, the mahogany polished to a high shine and banded in good iron. Segal drew to a halt outside, then knocked lightly against the wood. A moment later the doors parted, revealing the high-ceilinged chamber beyond. There was a huge window along one wall which, Blackwall suspected, would have a clear view over Lake Celestine in the daylight. The decor here was more austere than elsewhere in the estate, but the Duke’s wealth was apparent in the deep plush of the rug, the magic-wrought lamps on the walls, the fire built high in the hearth despite the balmy weather.</p><p>The Duke himself was sitting behind a large desk near the back of the room, writing something with an old-fashioned quill pen. Blackwall could see something of a resemblance to Clement in the Duke’s stature, the flecks of fox-red among his greying hair, but that was where the similarities ended. Duke Maxim’s features were sharp and hard, as though carved from granite, his eyes cold as he frowned down at his work. Unlike his servant, he wore no mask.</p><p>Segal cleared his throat delicately, standing a respectful distance from the Duke’s desk. “The Grey Wardens have arrived, Your Grace.”</p><p>Maxim did not look up when he spoke. “I can see that.”</p><p>“May I make introductions, Your Grace?”</p><p>“Not necessary.” He waved a hand irritably. “Leave us, Segal.”</p><p>“As Your Grace wishes.” The masked servant made a low, formal bow, then left the room with — Blackwall was sure — a dark look towards the Wardens.</p><p>Duke Maxim continued to write for a full minute before carefully placing down his pen. The silence in the room was almost palpable as he looked up at them, his face still as stone.</p><p>“Hello, father.” Clement’s voice was controlled but quiet.</p><p>“I was expecting you earlier,” Maxim said. “You’ve missed dinner. The cook had to throw out half of the food.”</p><p>Clement blinked at him. “Our apologies. There was some trouble on the road—”</p><p>“No matter,” the Duke cut in. “One of the servants can fetch something to your rooms. You’re in the Freyan suite, I believe.”</p><p>Blackwall saw the way Clement’s hand twitched at his side. It was a small, truncated motion, the barest suggestion of a fist. “The Grey Wardens appreciate your hospitality.”</p><p>“The hospitality is for your benefit, Clement,” Maxim said. “While you no longer hold your title you still bear my name, and will be housed as such. That your retinue are Grey Wardens is incidental.”</p><p>“I am a Grey Warden too, father.”</p><p>“As though I could forget.” There was an unmistakable edge of bitterness to the Duke’s voice. “Is there something else you need?”</p><p>Clement shook his head.</p><p>“Then I’m afraid I must bid you goodnight,” he said. “I have much to do before the tourney opens tomorrow.” Then Maxim picked up the pen from where he had left it, dipped it into his inkwell, and returned his attention to the letter.</p><p>The Wardens took their cue and left, Clement leading them back out through the double doors and into the corridor beyond. When the ever-present servants had closed the door behind them he let out a long sigh, shaking his head.</p><p>“Sorry about that,” he said. “Told you he wasn’t fond of the order.”</p><p>“We aren’t the ones owed an apology.” Hywel’s voice was brittle, the tips of his ears pointing low.</p><p>“Your dad’s a prick,” Tanith said.</p><p>Clement laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “Yes, he is. Come on. Let me see if I remember the way to the Freyan suite.” He walked off down the hallway, and if his eyes were a little red at the edges his friends did not remark on it.</p><p>The chateau seemed somehow bigger from the inside, a maze of grand stairways and wide passages, each as lavishly decorated as the last. Masked servants flitted from room to room, some with armfuls of laundry, some with scuttles of coal, all keeping their eyes low to the ground. There was something eerie about them, these silent figures who floated like phantoms through the hall.</p><p>The Wardens had just turned a corner when there came a sharp exclamation from the far end of the corridor. Blackwall looked up to see a woman running in their direction. She was tall, red-haired, her features so similar to Clement’s that they could only be siblings. He broke out into a smile when he saw her, the first sincere happiness that Blackwall had seen on his face all day.</p><p>Clement caught her up in a hug that nearly lifted her off the ground, their mingled laughter like bells in the air. When they finally broke apart she took a step back from him, then cuffed him lightly on the arm.</p><p>“I didn’t know you were here already,” she said. “Maker, I didn’t think you were coming at <em> all</em>. Father thought the invitation might have arrived too late.”</p><p>“I’m sure he’s tremendously disappointed that it didn’t,” Clement said.</p><p>The woman’s mouth made a fine line. “Was he awful?”</p><p>“Fairly.”</p><p>“Oh, for— never mind.” She smiled at him again. “I don’t imagine he offered you supper, anything like that?”</p><p>“You imagine correctly.”</p><p>“Well, that’s easily rectified. But I think some introductions are in order first, don’t you?”</p><p>“Of course.” Clement turned to his companions. “This is my sister, Sofie.” He gestured to each of them in turn. “Sofie, meet Wardens Blackwall, Nataly Kojek, Tanith Lavellan, and Hywel Ghinera.”</p><p>Sofie shook each of their hands in turn — her fingers were strong and calloused, Blackwall noted, not like a noble’s at all — but paused when she reached Hywel. Instead of taking his hand she held his shoulders gently, then leaned in to place a kiss on each of his cheeks.</p><p>“Welcome,” she said, her voice as warm as her father’s had been cold. “Clem’s told me so much about you. About time we met in person, don’t you think?”</p><p>“Ah. Yes.” Hywel seemed to be fighting to keep control of his expression. His jaw was clenched tight and his ears twitched alongside his skull, but there was no hiding the well of gratitude in his dark eyes. “It’s a pleasure.”</p><p>Sofie accompanied them through the estate, stopping a servant along the way to request that supper be brought up to them. The Freyan suite was a complex of rooms that Sofie described as ‘small’, though to Blackwall’s mind they were nothing of the sort. They comprised a sitting room, a parlour, five separate bedchambers, and even a modest library. The Wardens set down what little luggage they had travelled with and took seats around the large table in the parlour, looking around the space that would be their home for the next week. It was just as fashionable as the rest of the estate, though Blackwall noticed a distinct lack of ornamentation. The corridors had been full of oil paintings and vases and all manner of other artworks, but no such baubles were present here.</p><p>“How go your studies?” Clement asked Sofie as they sat down. He turned towards the rest of them and grinned. “She’s quite the scholar, you know.”</p><p>She shook her head. “I wouldn’t go so far as that.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t be modest,” he said. “My little sister speaks about a dozen languages and plays every instrument under the sun. <em> And </em> she’s an artist. All the talent in our family skipped right over me and went straight to her.”</p><p>“He is exaggerating, as usual,” she said. “But yes, my studies are going relatively well. My Tevene is still ghastly but I can at least hold a conversation now.” Sofie’s tone was light, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes.</p><p>Clement must have noticed this too, for he frowned at her. “What’s happened?”</p><p>“Oh, nothing,” she sighed. “I was offered a place at the University. That’s all.”</p><p>“Sofie, that’s wonderful!” Clement said, reaching over to clasp her hand. “Maker, aren’t you excited?”</p><p>“It would be. If father would let me go.”</p><p>“What?” His face fell. “What do you mean?”</p><p>Sofie shrugged. “He says it’s not appropriate,” she said. “Well, don’t look at me like you’re surprised. You know he’s never exactly approved of my ‘little hobbies’. He’d much rather I married some lordling and squeezed out a horde of pink-cheeked grandchildren.”</p><p>“Can’t you go anyway?” Clement asked.</p><p>“How would I pay my tuition? I’ve no sponsor. If father says I can’t go then that’s it. Honestly, Clem, I’d rather not dwell on it.” She forced a smile. “Now, tell me how you’ve been. I want to know all about the thrilling adventures of the Grey Wardens.”</p><p>Clement dropped the subject, and not long afterwards three servants arrived with crockery and trays of food. Even this cold repast was of better quality than anything that came through the kitchens at Fort Astor, all raised pies and fruit tarts and layered terrines of game. Blackwall hadn’t eaten since lunch that day and, conscious of their noble company, resisted falling onto the meal with his usual gusto. He needn’t have worried, however. Sofie picked at the food with her fingers, showing very little regard for propriety as she nibbled the flesh from a leg of fowl and spread plum preserves onto a slice of white bread.</p><p>They talked as they ate, Sofie encouraging the Wardens to tell her more of themselves as she listened intently. Blackwall might have thought her a spy for the Duke were her manner not so genuine. She had her brother’s open face, his honest way of speaking, and it seemed as though she was almost as low in their father’s estimation as Clement was. It must be maddening for her, to be stuck here in this world she was so ill-suited for. Sofie told them a little of the preparations for the upcoming tourney, and though Blackwall paid close attention to her words he heard nothing suspicious in them. If she knew of the darkspawn attacks she said nothing of it.</p><p>Once the meal was over Sofie bid them goodnight, encouraging them to come and find her if they needed anything at all. The Wardens retired not long after, exhausted from the road and anticipating an early start in the morning. Blackwall’s chamber could have fit his tiny room in Fort Astor inside it several times over, the hangings on the four-poster bed made of finer cloth than he had ever worn in his life. It felt distinctly strange to be sleeping somewhere so grand, when he was more accustomed to making camp on the roadside. At least his bare room in the Tabris compound had been a reasonable size. Here he’d be rattling around like dice in a gambler’s cup.</p><p>There was a tall set of leaded glass doors set into one wall, and when Blackwall opened them he discovered that they led out to a small balcony. After a wary glance to confirm how far it was from the ground — only one storey, which was acceptable — he stepped out onto the marble platform. It looked out over an ornamental garden, the paths and bowers and topiaried hedges all shades of grey in the dark.</p><p>“Hello.”</p><p>Blackwall turned to see Tanith standing on the balcony along from his, her elbows resting on the marble balustrade. She must have taken the room next door.</p><p>“Evening,” he said. “How are you settling in?”</p><p>“It’s strange,” she said. “A year ago they wouldn’t have let me be a chambermaid in a place like this.”</p><p>“At least we won’t be here long.”</p><p>“That’s something,” Tanith said. “Duke Maxim is a piece of work. I can see why Clement picked darkspawn over staying here.”</p><p>“So can I. Poor sod.”</p><p>“Sofie seems nice, though. Think it’ll be easier getting information out of her than him.”</p><p>“If she knows anything worth sharing.”</p><p>“True,” she said, grimacing. “Maker, I’m not looking forward to this.”</p><p>“At least it’s prettier than the Deep Roads.”</p><p>“That’s true,” Tanith laughed. “You know there’s a <em> piano </em> in my room? An actual piano.”</p><p>Blackwall frowned at her. “I’ve not got a piano. How come you get a piano?”</p><p>“Just got lucky.” She smiled, the pale moonlight bathing her face as she turned towards him. “Want to come over and compare furnishings?”</p><p>He hesitated for a moment. What he <em> wanted </em>to do wasn’t in question. But the last several weeks had been blessedly simple between them, and he had no desire to complicate things once more. “It’s late,” he said. “I should get some sleep.”</p><p>Tanith shrugged. “Suit yourself. See you tomorrow then.”</p><p>“Goodnight, Tan.”</p><p>“Night.”</p><p>She left the balcony, and a moment later Blackwall heard a few discordant notes through the wall of her room. He laughed quietly to himself as he returned to his own room, suddenly feeling tired to his bones. The mattress on the four-poster bed was too soft to be comfortable, the pillows carrying an overpowering scent of lavender, but at that moment he could have slept anywhere. Tomorrow was the first day of the tourney, and from the moment he woke in the morning the hourglass would be turned. Seven days to uncover the source of the darkspawn attacks. Seven days to discover what secrets Duke Maxim was keeping.</p><p>For all Blackwall resented his own part in their task, he was certain Tanith’s would be much worse. Envy was one thing he did not feel towards her. One of the few.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. From The Lowest Slaves</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tanith came awake slowly, stirred from her rest by the golden light now pouring through the windows. She rolled over and rubbed her eyes, sinking even deeper into the nest of pillows and blankets on her ridiculously large bed. For all that she felt that the estate was horribly ostentatious, this was one thing she could get used to. Compared to her narrow bed in the Fort Astor barracks, spending a night in such luxury had been like sleeping on a cloud.</p><p>She rose to find a fire already roaring in the grate and a ewer of water laid out on the dressing table. The knowledge that servants had been moving in and out of the room as she slept unnerved Tanith somewhat, and she tried to put it from her mind as she washed and dressed for the day. The water was perfumed with some kind of scented oil, and the neatly folded towels were white as fresh-fallen snow. When she glanced at the mirror Tanith couldn’t help but think she looked a little shabby against the backdrop of her lavish chamber. She wore her usual Warden garb, which was much in need of darning, and her hair was still tousled from sleep. After running her fingers through it several times Tanith decided that she was sufficiently well-groomed, and walked out into the sitting room.</p><p>Clement and Sofie were there already, sitting at one end of the table. Various dishes had been laid out on its surface, and a teapot steaming in the centre gave off the aroma of ginger and fennel.</p><p>“Morning,” Clement said brightly. “How did you sleep?”</p><p>“Like a stone,” Tanith said. “Am I first up?”</p><p>“Last, actually. Everyone else has gone down already.”</p><p>She stiffened with alarm. “What? Shit!”</p><p>“Oh, don’t worry.” Sofie waved towards an empty seat. “First day’s always a bit slow. Might as well eat something while you’re here.”</p><p>Clement nodded in agreement. “Honestly, you won’t miss much. Just a lot of long boring announcements about which lords are sending men to compete.”</p><p>Tanith wasn’t entirely certain that slacking off her duties so soon was the best idea, but her stomach was growling at the sight of the food. So she sat, helping herself to bread and grapes and some kind of perfumed rice dish, reasoning that she would think more clearly if she wasn’t starving hungry.</p><p>Sofie poured her a cup of tea from the pot. “Clem tells me you’re a mage.”</p><p>“I am,” Tanith said carefully. Mages were not generally held in high regard in Orlais, especially among the nobility.</p><p>“Fascinating,” Sofie said. “I always wanted to be a mage growing up.”</p><p>“She did,” Clement confirmed. “Used to spend hours pointing a broom handle at things in the garden, trying to set them on fire. She looked like this.” He scrunched his face and gritted his teeth in a comical mask of concentration.</p><p>“There’s not many who <em> want </em> to be mages,” Tanith said, laughing.</p><p>“Yes, I suppose it was rather naive of me.” Sofie smoothed out her skirts. “Would it be horribly improper for me to ask you to show me something? I’ve only seen magic used a handful of times.”</p><p>“Not at all.” Tanith drew in a little power and let it run out into the palm of her hand, where a small flame flickered into life.</p><p>“Maker.” Sofie’s eyes went very wide. “That is just <em> marvellous</em>.”</p><p>“It has its uses,” she shrugged, letting the fire wink out. “I should probably go and find the others.”</p><p>“I’ll go with you,” Clement said, patting his mouth clean with a napkin and getting to his feet. “Far too easy to get lost in this place.”</p><p>The chateau was much livelier now than it had been the previous night. Well-dressed nobles walked the halls in twos and threes, their embroidered finery and delicate masks looking more suited to a ballroom than a tourney. Most of them nodded politely towards the Wardens as they passed, then began whispering behind their fans a moment later. A couple recognised Clement and made formal greetings, which he returned politely.</p><p>“When’s the last time you were here?” Tanith asked.</p><p>“Now you’re asking,” he said. “Maker, must be almost ten years now. I’m surprised anyone remembers me at all.”</p><p>“You’ve not been home since you joined the Wardens?”</p><p>“I’m home all the time,” Clement said. “Home just isn’t here.”</p><p>As they made their way through the estate Clement explained a little about the tourney proceedings. It was a seven-day event, drawing nobles and warriors from all over southern Orlais. Most of the time was given over to jousting and other competitions of strength and skill, with the grand melee taking place on the afternoon of the second day. Throughout the week there would be myriad feasts and dances and other social occasions for those nobles at residence in Chateau Lavigne, though Clement assured Tanith the Wardens would not be expected to attend all of these.</p><p>“We’ll have to go to some,” he said, not looking pleased about it. “Definitely the dinner tonight, and definitely the closing ball. If we don’t my father may be accused of slighting his guests, and he won’t risk that damage to his reputation. But nor will he want to show us too much favour.”</p><p>“Perish the thought.”</p><p>The tourney ground had been set up in an open field a half mile from the estate. A large central ring, fenced off and covered with sand, was surrounded by several tiers of benches for spectators. These were already half-full, and as far as Tanith could tell most of the people sitting there were commoners. There was a separate, higher block of seating on the eastern side of the tourney ground, the scaffolding hung in the Duke’s colours. All of those sitting in that section wore masks, and Tanith caught sight of Maxim’s sharp profile in the centre of the crowd.</p><p>“Where do we go?” Tanith asked. “Down with the peasants or up with the nobles?”</p><p>“That’s a tricky one,” Clement said. “As my father’s guests we should be permitted to join him in the high seats, but there’s plenty who wouldn’t welcome us. I imagine we might move freely.” He scowled at the air in front of him. “I should probably make an appearance up there. Whether you wish to accompany me is up to you.”</p><p>Tanith had already spotted Hywel near the fence of the tourney ground, and she shook her head. “I’ll pass, if it’s all the same.”</p><p>“I don’t blame you,” he said. “I’ll come and find you later.”</p><p>Clement headed off towards the high seats while Tanith walked over to where Hywel was standing. Her trainer was looking out across the arena, where the first competitors were preparing their mounts. Like her, he had not brought his staff with him.</p><p>“Morning,” Hywel said. “You got up eventually, then?”</p><p>“Nobody came to wake me.”</p><p>“It’s alright,” he smiled. “We decided you would be more congenial if we allowed you to sleep in.”</p><p>“You decided correctly.” Tanith leaned up against the fence, watching a squire check the tack of his master’s horse. “You ever been to one of these before?”</p><p>Hywel shook his head. “Never. Though it’s interesting. You can tell a lot about a culture from their contests of strength.”</p><p>“What about the Dalish?” Tanith asked. “I’m guessing you don’t joust.”</p><p>“We do not,” he smiled. “I think the halla may be a little too delicate for that. In my clan the hunters practised hand-fighting, mostly. It’s a test of skill and reflexes as much as brute force. You have to be clever, anticipating your opponent’s movements before they strike.”</p><p>Tanith nodded. She had seen Hywel conduct himself with similar guile during their own duels. “What about this, then?” she asked, gesturing to the tourney ground.</p><p>“I’m reserving my opinion until I’ve witnessed it for myself,” he said. “But I suspect it will be loud and ostentatious and entirely without purpose. Like most of the aristocracy.”</p><p>She snickered, looking up at the high stands where several dozen masked dandies sat fanning themselves in the midday sun.</p><p>“What of your people?” Hywel asked.</p><p>“What about them?”</p><p>“How do those in the alienage test their mettle?”</p><p>“There’s foot races, sometimes,” she continued. “At weddings, things like that. Throwing horseshoes. Nothing violent.”</p><p>“No fighting at all?”</p><p>“Not if we can help it,” Tanith shrugged. “There’ll be a scrap, every now and then, a bar brawl maybe. But it’s not sport. Fighting brings the guards, and the guards are trouble. No one plans to get their attention.”</p><p>“That makes sense, I suppose.” He rested an elbow up against the fence. “Blackwall was a tourney champion back in his day, did you know that?”</p><p>There was something in Hywel's tone that Tanith didn’t like at all. It was too casual, his ears too still, and he watched her closely as she replied.</p><p>“I did not,” she said, keeping her voice neutral.</p><p>“I’m surprised he never mentioned it,” Hywel said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “The two of you must have had plenty of time to talk in Orzammar.”</p><p>“Well, we were busy.”</p><p>“Didn’t do much talking then, I take it?”</p><p>Tanith frowned at him. “I don’t know what you’re implying,” she said. “But whatever it is, I strongly deny it.”</p><p>“Just making conversation.” He smiled with maddening equanimity. “Do you have a plan, then, for your part in all this?”</p><p>“Not really,” she said, relieved that he had changed the subject. “I don’t know why Perchet got it into her head that I was the best person for this job.”</p><p>“You don’t like her very much, do you?”</p><p>“Not really,” Tanith admitted. “Do you?”</p><p>“I do, as a matter of fact.” Hywel pulled the length of his braid over his shoulder. “Margot’s vocation is… a difficult one. It’s easy to forget that thirty years ago the order was still banished in Ferelden, and such things are not ancient history. She has to maintain a fighting force in preparation for a war that may not come for a hundred years or more, with limited resources and a somewhat tarnished reputation. It is not a task that I would want for myself.”</p><p>“I understand that,” Tanith said. “But I’m still not sure why she’s sending me out spying for her.”</p><p>“Margot Perchet is no fool.” Hywel gave her a serious look. “She is not quick to praise, but she wouldn’t have assigned you to a role she did not believe you capable of. Prove to her that this trust was well-placed, and you will gain her respect.”</p><p>“Right. That’ll be easy. I’ll just go up to the Duke and ask him nicely why he’s letting darkspawn run riot all over his lands.”</p><p>He chuckled. “Regardless of what you might like people to think, you’re no fool either. Come on. Tell me what your plan is.”</p><p>She thought about this for a moment, looking up at the high seats. “Don’t think the nobles will talk to me. Elf <em> and </em> mage <em> and </em>Grey Warden is not the most fashionable combination. Don’t think the common folk will either, if they’re human, and from the look of things they mostly are.” Turning around, she frowned towards the staging area at the side of the ring, where a number of servants scurried about making final preparations. “That might do. Hold this.”</p><p>Tanith unbuckled her tabard and pulled it off over her head, handing it to Hywel. The plain shirt and leggings she wore underneath were nondescript, and without her Grey Warden colours she looked like any other elf on a day’s labour.</p><p>“Wish me luck.”</p><p>She walked in a long arc around the edge of the ring, watching the servants as she approached them. While there were some elves among them they were mostly human, the kind of brawny lads who often got hired for heavy lifting and not much else. On her way to the staging area Tanith passed a few sacks leaning up against the fence, each full of oats for the horses. She hefted one into her arms — it was heavier than it looked, and she had to brace it against her shoulder to keep from dropping it — and walked over towards a small cluster of servants.</p><p>“Oi,” she called as she approached. “Where does he want this?”</p><p>One of the men, a dark-haired human with a jaw like a cinderblock, frowned in her direction. “Where does who want it?”</p><p>“Only been here an hour.” Tanith let a little irritation creep into her voice. “I don’t know all their names. Tall, stupid hair.”</p><p>“Sounds like Lord Cavanaugh,” said one of the elven servants. “He’s third stall from the left. Just leave it by the door for the ostler.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>Tanith walked round to the temporary stable and dumped the oats by the third stall, earning her a curious look from the horse inside it. She skulked around for a while, letting a few minutes pass, then returned to where the other servants were standing.</p><p>“You new?” the dark-haired man asked.</p><p>“Yes,” Tanith said easily. “Duke hired a few of us in for the tourney. What about you?”</p><p>He shook his head. “Usually work the grounds. How much you getting paid for this, anyway?”</p><p>“Copper a day.” That had been the going rate for casual labour when she had been in Montfort.</p><p>The man nodded grimly, then bowed his head and spat on the ground in front of him. It wasn’t directed at her, Tanith was certain, and was instead an expression of irritation towards the world at large.</p><p>“What’s it like working up there?” Tanith thumbed over her shoulder, in the direction of the estate. “Be good to get something a bit more regular.”</p><p>Several of the servants laughed bitterly at the suggestion.</p><p>“Don’t bother,” one offered. “You’d be better off begging for pennies on the village green.”</p><p>“Really? Why’s—”</p><p>But before she could finish her question a burly man in a leather apron came over and scolded the lot of them for slacking off, then put them to work unloading a wagon that had just arrived from the next town. Tanith could not beg off the task without giving away her deception, and so she ended up spending the next hour helping the estate servants to carry barrels of ale over to a tent at the corner of the tourney ground. If she channelled a little magic to make the task easier, well. The other servants looked at her with a touch more respect for carrying out the heavy labour with relative ease, probably assuming — correctly — that her stature was not suited to such work.</p><p>Still, Tanith could have done without it. By the time the last barrel was unloaded she had sweated through her shirt, and no magical assistance in the world could have stopped her arms from aching. As she leaned against a post to catch her breath she watched the servants out of the corner of her eye. Some had been summoned off to other work, but two — the dark-haired human and the elf she had spoken to earlier — were deep in conversation at one side of the tent. Tanith glanced over to make sure they weren’t looking in her direction, then stole quietly outside. She walked around the perimeter until she was standing in roughly the same spot as the men, with the heavy fabric of the tent separating them.</p><p>“— taking the piss,” she heard the human say.</p><p>“Tell me about it.” The elven man’s voice was thick with resentment. “Did he think we wouldn’t find out?”</p><p>“He don’t think at all. Not about us, anyway.”</p><p>“You going to tell Jenny?”</p><p>“Yeah. Can you cover for me a bit?”</p><p>“Course.”</p><p>Tanith heard a rustling as the servants moved off in different directions, and she dashed back around the corner to watch from a less conspicuous position. A moment later the dark-haired man emerged from the tent and walked off away from the tourney ground, down a sloping hill and towards a copse of beeches. When he was almost out of her line of sight Tanith set off behind him, glad for the cover of the trees as she followed the servant through the estate lands.</p><p>The path he followed was not well trodden but, from the disturbance of the leaves underfoot, Tanith was sure that it had been used regularly in recent days. She stepped quietly, keeping her eyes trained on the back of the servant’s head. He strode with purpose, clearly with a destination in mind, though where he could be going out here she could not guess. The land they travelled through was wild for the most part, forest and scrubby undergrowth, with few signs of habitation save for the occasional farmer’s cottage in the distance.</p><p>After a few minutes of walking the servant emerged from the other side of the stand of trees, and Tanith saw what must be his destination; a tumbledown shepherd’s hut at the bottom of the slope, much overgrown with ivy. An old cartwheel rested against one wall, its metal gone to rust. The place did not look as though it was currently inhabited.</p><p>Tanith did not dare to go any closer without the shelter of the trees, so she watched from behind a broad oak as the dark-haired man knocked on the door of the hut before opening it. He went inside, closing the door behind him, and did not emerge again for several minutes. The cooing of pigeons overhead masked any sound of conversation to Tanith’s ears. When the servant finally came back out he turned around and spoke a few words over his shoulder before leaving. There <em> was </em>someone inside the hut, then.</p><p>Guessing that he would return the way he had come, Tanith found a patch of dense brush and hid there as he made his way back through the trees. Once she was certain she would not be seen she stood again, looking over towards the shepherd’s hut. There was no smoke curling from the chimney, no sound of movement, no sign of life at all. Part of her was tempted to walk down the hill and investigate, but she was alone and unarmed, with no idea what manner of person might be inside. She waited there for another half an hour, hoping that the hut’s occupant would reveal themselves, before giving up and walking back towards the tourney ground.</p><p>Perchet's suspicions had been right in that respect; something strange was happening at Chateau Lavigne.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. As I Stumble On The Path</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blackwall had always held a certain affection for tourneys. There was something about the energy of them, the smell of sawdust and spilled beer and horses, the roar of the crowd and the clashing of lances, that made him feel at home. Orlesian tourneys were showier than those held in the Free Marches, with as much emphasis on the noble heritage of the competitors as there was on combat, but it was close enough. He and Nataly had arrived early at the tourney ground that morning, finding good seats in the stalls before the first tilts began.</p><p>Most of the riders were of a fair calibre, obviously experienced in the joust and possessing a decent amount of skill. Some tourneys were vanity affairs, put on to showcase the hobbies of bored youngest sons and lordlings with delusions of grandeur, but Duke Maxim seemed to have taken great care over whom he invited to compete. Save for the odd green lad on his first tilt the competitors rode well and cleanly, the satisfying <em> crack </em> of splintered wood accompanying each charge up the lists.</p><p>Nataly had attended tourneys on recruitment once or twice before, but had never paid much attention to the proceedings. At her request Blackwall explained the rules of the competition, and she nodded along as they watched the next pair of riders get into position.</p><p>“Seems pointless looking here for recruits,” Nataly said. “I mean sure, they might be good at this, but have you ever seen a darkspawn on a horse?” She shuddered at the thought. “If that ever happens we might have to rethink our tactics.”</p><p>“It can be pointless,” Blackwall admitted. “But not always. A few men take up the joust for sport, but most have some kind of military background. Cavalry, usually. You can tell the difference sometimes.”</p><p>“How?”</p><p>“Those who ride for sport move more slowly. They take their time aiming, play for points. Men who’ve seen combat tend to rely on speed and force. There’s less fear in them.”</p><p>“So we should be looking at the latter, I’m guessing.”</p><p>“In theory.” He shrugged. “In practice it’s better to ignore the joust altogether and focus on the melee. Less highborn types in it for the glory, more honest warriors.”</p><p>“Whatever you say.” Nataly leaned back in her seat. “Personally, I’m treating this whole affair as a week off. Margot knows that tourneys are a dud for conscription. She won’t be expecting much.”</p><p>“I won’t pretend that’s not tempting.”</p><p>They watched the next few tilts in companionable silence, hissing in sympathy at particularly nasty blows and cheering along with the crowd at every victory. After a few hours a break was called, and people began to move around and talk while they waited for the competition to resume.</p><p>Blackwall’s thoughts were wandering a little, but he was snapped back to attention when he heard the word <em> darkspawn </em>spoken nearby. He glanced at Nataly, who nodded to confirm it. She gestured surreptitiously to a pair of armoured men in the row in front of them, both wearing the green and silver of the Duke’s guard. Without discussion Blackwall and Nataly moved a few seats to the left, positioning themselves behind the guards to better hear their conversation.</p><p>“—not a thing,” the taller one said. “Just dismissed him from his duties and sent him home.”</p><p>“You had any word of him?”</p><p>“Only that he’s half-dead from the sickness already. His mother’s doing the best she can for him but it’s obvious he’s not going to pull through. People don’t, not from that.”</p><p>“Maker’s mercy.” The other man shook his head. “Cal’s widow’s still not seen a thin penny of his pension neither.”</p><p>“Still? It’s been weeks since he died.”</p><p>“Like I could forget.” He shivered. “They butchered him, Stef, cut him to pieces in front of my eyes. I still have nightmares about it.”</p><p>“I’m not surprised. Every day I wake up worrying I’ll be in the next patrol.”</p><p>“Pray you’re not. They’re like nothing I’ve ever seen.”</p><p>“Burn it all, Jim, I can’t think about this. Let’s get a drink.”</p><p>The guards rose from their seats and made their way through the stands, their mail glinting in the morning sunlight.</p><p>“It’s true then,” Nataly said, her face grim. “There <em> are </em>darkspawn here.”</p><p>“What I don’t understand is why the Duke is sending his own men out to fight them,” Blackwall said. “Why not write to the Wardens? Maker, why not close the entrance?”</p><p>“I don’t know. He might hate the order for recruiting Clem but that can’t be the end of it, surely?”</p><p>“It’d be a pretty big grudge to have your lands crawling with darkspawn just to spite the Wardens.”</p><p>Nataly gave a shrug. “Nobles are experts at holding grudges. Some great-great ancestor of mine once led a conspiracy to unseat House Meino from the Assembly. Must have been two hundred years ago and they still won’t speak to my family at dinner.”</p><p>“Perhaps the Duke hasn’t found the source of the darkspawn yet,” Blackwall said. “Doesn’t want to look incompetent, so he won’t ask for help.”</p><p>“Could be.” Nataly nodded. “Or maybe he’s got a seneschal who takes care of his business, and he doesn’t know a thing about it.”</p><p>They were still speculating when Tanith arrived a few minutes later. She wasn’t wearing her Warden colours, and there was a curious expression on her face when she sat down next to Blackwall.</p><p>“Any luck?” he asked.</p><p>“Maybe,” she said, a tiny frown creasing her forehead. “Saw something odd going on with the servants. They’re up to something.”</p><p>“What kind of something?”</p><p>“I don’t know yet. I’ll have to keep an eye on it.”</p><p>“We just heard a couple of the Duke’s men talking about the darkspawn,” Nataly said. “If that helps.”</p><p>“Yes,” Tanith sighed. “Between your intelligence and mine I’ve reached the firm conclusion that ‘something is definitely happening’. That’s about as far as I’ve got.”</p><p>The sound of trumpets came from down in the arena as the tourney announcer declared that the next tilt was about to begin. Tanith settled her boots on the seat in front of her, to the annoyance of its occupant, and leaned back to watch. Her face was still pensive, but it lit up again once the first blow was struck. One rider landed a lucky hit and knocked his opponent off his mount, earning a raucous cheer from the crowd. The unlucky competitor caught his foot in the stirrup on his way to the ground and was dragged twenty feet before his squire managed to halt the horse.</p><p>“This is <em> much </em> better than I thought it was going to be,” Tanith said.</p><p>“It’s not too bad,” Nataly agreed. “Reminds me a little of the Proving grounds back home.”</p><p>“Oh, we went there!” Tanith said, gesturing between herself and Blackwall. “Now <em> that </em> was fun.”</p><p>“You know, that might be the thing I miss the most about Orzammar,” Nataly said. “I always wanted to compete but my father wouldn’t let me. Came close to joining the Silent Sisters just to piss him off.”</p><p>“I miss lava bugs,” Tanith said.</p><p>“Oh, those are good though,” Nataly said. “Scrap that, I miss them the most. Humans don’t know how to snack.”</p><p>Tanith nodded sagely. “They really don’t.”</p><p>Blackwall wasn’t sure where Tanith had been doing her spying, but there were a few dry leaves tangled in her hair. Without thinking he reached out and plucked them away, then brushed his fingers lightly through her curls to smooth them down.</p><p>His brain caught up with his body a second too late. He froze, looking up to see Tanith staring at him with unreadable eyes. Blackwall didn’t have to turn around to know that Nataly had watched this happen. He felt a moment’s panic before deciding to simply change the subject, in the vain hope that she would never bring it up.</p><p>“What’s happening with the servants?” he asked Tanith.</p><p>“I told you, I don’t know,” she said. “They didn’t seem too happy with the Duke though. Does the name Jenny mean anything to you?”</p><p>“No. Why?”</p><p>She shook her head. “Just something I heard one of them say. They’re upset about their wages, I think.”</p><p>“Wait,” Nataly said, leaning forward so she could speak quietly. “Didn’t one of those guards say that someone didn’t get their pension?”</p><p>Blackwall nodded.</p><p>“So what?” Tanith said, seemingly unimpressed by this revelation. “‘Rich man acts stingy’ isn’t exactly news.”</p><p>“Could be something though, right?” Nataly said.</p><p>“I suppose so.” Tanith didn’t sound convinced. “It’s not much to go on.”</p><p>Nataly gave her a reassuring smile. “Look, it’s only the first day. I’m sure you’ll dig up all sorts of dirt by the time we get out of here.”</p><p>“Won’t be a moment too soon.”</p><p>“Anyway, I’m starving,” Nataly said, getting to her feet. “All this fancy Orlesian food doesn’t touch the sides. You want anything from the tent?”</p><p>Both of them shook their heads, and she left them alone in the stands. The sand was being raked down in preparation for the next tilt, and the horses snorted impatiently at the either end of the ring. Tanith looked out across the tourney ground, her face very still.</p><p>“You can’t do that,” she said suddenly. “Not if we— you just can’t, alright?”</p><p>“I know,” Blackwall sighed. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Just watch what you’re doing, okay? You wanted to keep it quiet. So keep it quiet.”</p><p>That gave Blackwall pause. To the best of his recollection it was her who had been keen to hide their indiscretions, but he said nothing of it. In truth, the action hadn’t even been intentional. On the way back to Val Chevin he and Tanith had fallen into the kind of casual intimacy where he wouldn’t have thought twice about touching her so, and sometimes he forgot that this was no longer permitted.</p><p>Their journey back from Orzammar had only lasted a few days, but in that time they grown comfortable with one another. Tanith was more tactile than he might have imagined, her hand forever brushing his arm as they walked the road to Jader, her fingers twining with his in camp at night. Her seasickness had been a little better on the return voyage, but still she had spent hours curled up against him in their tiny cabin, groaning with nausea as he rubbed slow circles at her back. For all of this to be so suddenly taboo was not an easy adjustment. It was like a sentence cut off before completion.</p><p>Nataly returned a few minutes later and, despite Tanith’s insistence that she was not hungry, she still ate half of the dwarf’s portion of pork cracklings. Once she had finished stealing food Tanith left, saying that she would see them at dinner later that evening. Blackwall’s mood soured a little at the reminder. Making polite conversation with the upper echelons of Orlesian society was not his ideal way to spend an evening, but Clement had been certain that there was no way to get out of it.</p><p>“Do you think we could beg off tonight?” he asked Nataly. “Urgent Grey Warden business, something like that?”</p><p>“Stop deflecting,” she said firmly. “What was that?”</p><p>“What was what?”</p><p>“<em>That</em>. With her.”</p><p>“With who?”</p><p>Nataly gave him a withering look. “I’m going to sock you in the jaw if you don’t quit it. Is there something going on with you and Tanith or what?”</p><p>“Of course not,” he said, a little louder than was necessary. This was true, he told himself— there wasn’t anything going on between them. Not any more.</p><p>“You could have fooled me,” she said. “Look, just… be careful, okay? Stuff like that can cause problems quickly.”</p><p>He opened his mouth to point out that Hywel and Clement’s relationship had never caused problems, then shut it again once he realised what a transparent admission of guilt that would be. “There isn’t anything to cause them in the first place.”</p><p>“Sure.” She rolled her eyes. “Very convincing.”</p><p>Certain that arguing with her would only exacerbate the situation, Blackwall chose to drop the issue and return his attention to the jousting. The afternoon’s events had put him in a foul mood, and the prospect of that night’s impending dinner was not improving matters. There had been far too many derailments over the past year. He had not joined the Wardens to sit at table with lords or follow whispers underground. He had joined the order to repent, to fight where necessary, to do the work he was assigned and do it well. There was not supposed to be space for intrigue in his life, not any longer.</p><p>Later that afternoon the announcer stepped into the middle of the arena to call the last tilt of the day. He wore the Duke’s colours, the mask on his face patterned with the fish-scale pattern commonly found in Chateau Lavigne. His rich voice carried so clearly over the noise of the crowd that Blackwall was sure that he was being magically assisted in some way.</p><p>“My lords,” he said. “My ladies. Presenting Lord Adrien Desmarais, of Velun.”</p><p>There was a roar of applause as the first competitor rode into the lists. The caparison on his horse was the familiar green and silver, and with his visor lifted Blackwall could see a shock of red hair across his forehead.</p><p>“Oh shit,” Nataly said under her breath. “That’s Clem’s brother, isn’t it?”</p><p>“Must be.”</p><p>Clement had never talked much about his brother, though he had mentioned Sofie many times. As the eldest son Adrien was set to inherit his father’s title and was, Blackwall suspected, the only child who had earned any of Duke Maxim’s favour. He sat straight-backed and confident atop his horse, carrying himself with the easy grace of a man who had done this many times before.</p><p>The announcer raised his voice again as he introduced the next competitor. “Presenting Ser Marcel de Chambrun, of Verichel.”</p><p>Adrien’s opponent wore the gleaming armour of an Imperial chevalier, the yellow plumes atop his helmet bright in the sunlight. He rode a great beast of a charger, the animal’s muscular body draped in the colours of House Valmont, and his entrance earned its own respectable round of applause.</p><p>A hush fell over the crowd as both riders took their places for the first tilt. Each competitor levelled his lance as a steward lifted the warning flag, then spurred his horse forward when it was dropped again. The hollow sound of hooves against the packed earth grew to a clatter as the riders picked up speed, holding their lances with incredible precision despite the momentum.</p><p>They came together in a great shattering of wood, each man breaking the tip of his lance cleanly against his opponent’s armour. The crowd erupted into cheers, whooping and clapping as the riders slowed their horses at the end of the lists. A draw, and about as evenly matched a pair as Blackwall had ever seen. Both men were skilled, experienced, and from the reactions of the spectators he guessed that this was the tilt that most people had come here to see.</p><p>After the squires had come to swap out their lances Adrien and the chevalier turned to face each other once more. The flag was raised and dropped, and soon they were galloping down the lists with the same cool control that both had demonstrated in the first pass. Blackwall was certain it would be another draw, but at the last second the chevalier missed his mark. His lance glanced harmlessly off Adrien’s pauldron, while Adrien’s own splintered to pieces against de Chambrun’s heavy plate.</p><p>The clamour that accompanied this victory was deafening. Regardless of how they felt about their lord, common folk would always support those from home soil when pitted against an outsider. Blackwall even felt himself getting caught up in the atmosphere as the riders readied themselves for the third and final tilt, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he watched the flag raised high.</p><p>When it dropped both riders spurred their horses hard, holding nothing back for this last charge. Blackwall saw the way the chevalier dug his heels into his mount, the charger’s flank shining with sweat, its mouth foaming with spittle. A draw in this pass would mean the victory went to Adrien, and the stakes were high. Adrien himself kept his composure, his grip on his lance never wavering as he tore along the list.</p><p>It happened almost too quickly to see. Both lances met their opponents’ armour in an explosion of splinters, but the chevalier’s blow had hit harder. Adrien was thrown backwards, falling off his horse to land with a crash of metal against the hard ground. The gasp of horror that rose from the crowd was genuine. It was a nasty landing, the kind that could do significant damage to a body. Blackwall glanced to the high seats, saw Duke Maxim pushing his way to the front of the scaffold with Clement close at his shoulder.</p><p>There was no applause this time, no cheers of victory. Only a silence that stretched out endlessly as squires and stewards ran to Adrien’s side, a groom catching the reins of his horse to keep it from running off. Blackwall found himself holding his breath as Adrien’s attendants knelt down and tried to rouse him. A sickening moment passed before the Duke’s son stirred, getting unsteadily to his feet and making a reassuring wave towards the crowd.</p><p>Tension broken, the spectators finally began clapping for the end of the match, though Blackwall suspected that this was as much for Adrien’s recovery as it was de Chambrun’s victory. The chevalier had dismounted and presently walked across the tourney ground towards his opponent. They clasped hands warmly, the show of camaraderie stirring the cheers on once more.</p><p>“Shit,” Nataly said. “That was something.”</p><p>“It certainly was,” Blackwall said. “I’ve not seen a tilt like that in a dozen years.”</p><p>“You think Clem’s brother is alright?”</p><p>“Should be. The biggest risk with an unhorsing like that is breaking your neck, and he hasn’t. He’ll have some bruises to show from it, but nothing lasting.”</p><p>She nodded. “Shall we go back? Get ready for this evening’s entertainment?”</p><p>“Maker, do we have to?”</p><p>“We do,” she said. “Look, it won’t be so bad. I’ve been to a million formal dinners, they’re fine. Just keep your elbows off the table, don’t eat with your hands, and try not to say anything offensive to someone who could have you beheaded.”</p><p>“I’ll try and remember that.”</p><p>They joined the crushing of people making their way out of the stands, heading slowly back in the direction of Chateau Lavigne. There was something itching at the back of Blackwall’s mind, some little recollection that he could not quite place. He dismissed it as unimportant. If there was any significance to the feeling, he was certain it would reveal itself sooner or later.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. To The Highest Kings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tanith sat by the dressing table in her palatial room, reciting the names of courses to herself. <em> Soup, fish, salad, palate cleanser, mignardise, demitasse… </em></p><p>Each of these came with its own protocol, every bite requiring one to know a dozen little pieces of etiquette. Clement had been drilling these into his companions ever since Perchet had requested their attendance at the chateau, reciting modes of address and lists of cutlery in the mess and the carriage and at the breakfast table, but still Tanith could not remember them all.</p><p>She frowned at herself in the mirror. In the alienage food had been hard to come by, and there had been many a night where she had gone hungry for the want of it. The idea that there were people in the world for whom meals were so commonplace, such an accepted part of life, that they needed to come up with rules to make them more entertaining, disgusted her. Why not simply eat, and be grateful for it? Why all these guidelines for something so base as filling your stomach?</p><p>While she was tempted to simply shovel the food into her mouth and be done with it, and fuck the consequences, she knew that this was what every lord at the table would be expecting of her. Just another uncivilised rabbit, with no manners to speak of. Knowing that there would be more satisfaction in proving them wrong, Tanith continued reciting the lists from Clement’s impromptu lessons.</p><p>She was trying to remember the difference between an amuse-bouche and an hors d'oeuvre when there was a gentle knock at the door of her room.</p><p>“Come in,” she called, turning around in her chair.</p><p>A slight elven woman entered the room, dressed in the simple mask and long skirts of the estate’s servants. Her black hair was cut short and sleek, emphasising her delicate features. She stepped forward a few paces and dropped into a neat curtsy, smiling politely in Tanith’s direction.</p><p>“Can I help you?” Tanith asked.</p><p>“Lady Sofie sent me,” she said. “To help you dress for dinner.”</p><p>Tanith frowned. “You’re a bit late. I’m already dressed.”</p><p>Before they had left Fort Astor the Wardens had packed clothing that was suitable for such occasions at Clement’s insistence, digging the garments out from the bottom of an old equipment chest. The tabard Tanith wore was not dissimilar to the one she usually sported, though it was lighter without its chainmail lining. As far as she knew there was nothing else required of her.</p><p>The servant’s mouth twisted a little. She seemed to be looking for a way to object politely. “There are other ways I could be of service,” she said. “I could dress your hair. I have some cosmetics—”</p><p>Tanith waved a hand. “That really won’t be necessary.”</p><p>“If you wish it.” The servant shifted from foot to foot. “However, Lady Sofie requested that I come here to assist you. If I do not, it may seem as though I have not done my duty.”</p><p>This, at least, Tanith could understand. Not wanting to be the cause of any trouble for the woman, she sighed. “Alright then. Though I’m not sure how much good you can do.”</p><p>“Thank you, madame.” The maid bobbed another curtsy and crossed the room to where Tanith sat. “I will not keep you long.”</p><p>“None of the ‘madame’ business, please,” Tanith said, grimacing. “Back home people with house positions are too good for the likes of me. Feels weird hearing you give me a title.”</p><p>“Back home?” The servant kept her voice carefully pleasant as she took a brush from the vanity and pulled it through Tanith’s hair.</p><p>“Montfort alienage,” Tanith said. “Though I’ve not been there in months.”</p><p>“I see.”</p><p>“What about you?” Tanith asked. “Do you live in the chateau?”</p><p>“I do,” she said. There was a pause, and then she continued. “My parents and daughter live in the alienage at Velun.”</p><p>Tanith caught the servant’s eye in the mirror. “How is it there?”</p><p>“Better than some places. Safe, at least.” Her meaning in this was clear. There had been no purges, no military intervention since the Halamshiral rebellion. A lucky break.</p><p>“What’s your name?”</p><p>“Romilly, if it please you.”</p><p>“I’m Tanith.”</p><p>“It is good to meet you.” The smile Romilly gave her was genuinely warm this time, not the forced politeness of a servant to her betters. “I must admit, it is strange to attend upon another elf.”</p><p>“It’s strange to be attended on at all.”</p><p>Romilly had been twisting Tanith’s curls into a loose knot at the back of her head as they spoke. With one deft hand the servant reached down and took several pins from the pocket of her long skirt, then began sliding them into Tanith’s hair.</p><p>“How long have you been working here?”</p><p>“Five years in the household,” Romilly said. “Lady’s maid for two.”</p><p>“Is the Duke a good employer?” Tanith asked, trying to keep her tone casual.</p><p>“The Duke is not my employer. Lady Sofie is.” There was the slightest hint of steel in her voice. “For which I am grateful.”</p><p>A few more carefully-placed pins and Romilly stepped back from the chair. Tanith looked at herself in the mirror, turning her head from side to side to assess what had been done to her. She had been concerned that Romilly would leave her with the kind of ridiculous hairstyle many of the noblewomen wore, all high buns and simpering ringlets, but Tanith found herself surprisingly pleased with the result. Most of her hair was pinned into a loose coil at the nape of her neck, with several artful curls left free to frame her face.</p><p>“Alright,” Tanith said. “That works.”</p><p>“A little shadow would bring out your eyes,” Romilly said, her inflection making it a question.</p><p>Tanith had never worn cosmetics in her life, but she found herself liking the woman and, frankly, she had nothing better to do. “Go on then.”</p><p>Romilly unclipped a small pouch from her chatelaine and drew out something which looked like a stick of charcoal. “If you would close your eyes.”</p><p>Fighting back a grin, Tanith did as she was asked. It was all too ridiculous, being made up like a court lady when her social standing was about three rungs lower than commoner. She felt a gentle tickling across her eyelids, then a moment later a light brush of something over her lips.</p><p>“There,” Romilly said. “That should be enough. Too much paint would not suit you.”</p><p>Tanith examined herself in the mirror once more. Romilly had outlined her eyes in black, making them look wider, their colour brighter. Whatever the servant had put on her lips had left them with a dusky shine, as though she had been eating blackberries and had not wiped her mouth clean. For a moment Tanith just blinked at herself, hardly recognising her reflection. Romilly had done very little, but it had left her looking something close to beautiful.</p><p>“Shit,” Tanith said. “You’re pretty good at this, aren’t you?”</p><p>Romilly smiled, the proud expression of someone who knows a compliment is deserved. “I do my best. Is there anything else you need of me?”</p><p>Tanith shook her head. “You’ve done more than enough. Thank you.”</p><p>“The pleasure is mine.”</p><p>“Hold on.” Tanith got up and walked across the room, to where she had dumped her pack upon arriving. She rooted around in the bottom of it, drawing out a handful of coppers. Embarrassed by the loose change, but not having anything else to offer, she handed them over to Romilly. “Here,” she said. “Sorry it’s not much.”</p><p>“Oh.” The lady’s maid looked surprised at the offering. “You needn’t—”</p><p>“Please,” Tanith said. “Send it to your daughter or something.”</p><p>Romilly hesitated, then took the coins and tucked them into the pocket of her skirt. “You are too kind,” she said quietly.</p><p>“No one’s ever kind to us,” Tanith said. “We have to look out for each other, don’t we?”</p><p>The servant nodded stiffly, then hurried out of the room. Tanith hoped that her gesture hadn’t offended Romilly somehow. People in the alienage did not have much, but they had their pride.</p><p>Putting it from her mind, she glanced at the mirror once more before walking out into the sitting room. The other Wardens were there already, sitting around the table as they waited for the dinner bell to be rung. When Tanith entered the room Nataly looked up and whistled.</p><p>“Sofie’s girl managed to get you, huh?” she asked. “She called for me as well. I… declined her offer.” Nataly rubbed a hand over her close-cropped hair.</p><p>“Does it look that bad?” Tanith asked.</p><p>Nataly shook her head. “Nah. Suits you.”</p><p>“Shan’t be long now.” Clement fussed with the cuffs of his shirt, looking more than a little nervous. “Maker, I always hated these things.”</p><p>“Imagine how we feel.” Hywel gave a sardonic half-smile. “At least you know what you’re doing.”</p><p>“Hardly. I’ve not been to a formal dinner in the best part of a decade.”</p><p>“Most of us have <em> never </em>been to one,” Tanith pointed out. “I think you’re the least of our worries.”</p><p>“Perhaps we should go over some of the etiquette again,” Clement said. “Refresh our memories a bit?”</p><p>Before he could launch into another complicated explanation of how to use a napkin, a small bell near the sitting room door began to ring.</p><p>“Oh, Maker’s mercy,” he said, his face crumpling. “No time. Look, you’ll all be fine, alright? It’ll be over before you know it.” The reassurance seemed as much directed towards himself as anyone else.</p><p>“Come on,” Nataly said, getting to her feet and clapping a hand to Clement’s shoulder. “Let’s go face the music.”</p><p>As they moved towards the door Tanith glanced over at Blackwall, who had been notably quiet throughout this last exchange. She found him already staring in her direction, but he looked away again as soon as their eyes met. The expression on his face was unfamiliar, and Tanith found herself wishing, not for the first time, that his ears were not so inscrutable.</p><p>The dinner was taking place in one of the chateau’s vast dining rooms. It was easily the most opulent chamber Tanith had seen so far, and she had to keep from gaping as she followed the others inside. The walls were panelled in polished mahogany, the crystal chandeliers refracting the light into a thousand warm points. A long table had been laid with snowy linen, flawless silver and china, with vases of hothouse flowers placed at intervals along its surface. Liveried footmen in masks of worked silver stood against the walls, still as statues.</p><p>Tanith was horrified to discover that the Grey Wardens had not been seated together. A servant led her to the far end of the table, gesturing towards an empty chair. There was a folded card in the centre of the place setting, her name written upon it in neat, looping script. Being forced to sit here was doubly galling. Not only was she far away from Clem, to whom she had been intending to direct any questions regarding etiquette, she was also about as distant from the head of the table as it was possible to be. Her plan for the evening had been to listen quietly to the Duke’s conversations, taking note of anything that might support her investigation, but this had now been well and truly scuppered.</p><p>The guests stood behind their chairs until Duke Maxim himself arrived, it being apparently impolite to take a seat before the host. He left them waiting for almost a full minute before entering the room — a ploy, Tanith suspected, intended to remind them all who was in charge here. The design of his mask was simpler than those his courtiers wore, though the chips of emerald set into the silver suggested a far greater value. His expression was as stern as always as he took his seat, the starched linen of his collar as spotless as the tablecloth.</p><p>The moment the Duke sat down the servants stepped forward to draw out the other seats for his guests. Tanith, who had forgotten this part, almost caught her foot on a chair leg as it was swept out under the table. Not a good start. She fought to keep her face composed as she sat down, resisting the urge to smile her thanks at the footman. It was not considered seemly to acknowledge the existence of servants as anything more than an extension of the furniture.</p><p>A quartet of musicians took to a small stage in the corner of the room as the first course was brought out, and a gentle, unobtrusive melody soon mingled with the conversation of the guests. The soup was pale and thin, the colour of limestone, and when Tanith lifted the first spoonful to her lips she had to clench her jaw to keep from gagging. It was stone cold, tasting vaguely of leeks and horribly chill against her tongue. Her first instinct was to assume that this was a deliberate slight, or else a terrible gaffe by one of the cooks, but a quick glance around the table disproved this. No one else’s bowls were steaming, but the nobles seemed perfectly content to sip at this vaguely glue-like substance. Blackwall was sitting almost directly opposite her, and his frown confirmed that she was not the only one who found this utterly disgusting.</p><p>Luckily the bowl was small, and Tanith managed to get through the whole portion without grimacing. Once the course was finished the footmen swept in to clear away the crockery, and several minutes later they returned with the fish course. This looked far more appetising than the soup had, a fillet of pink-fleshed trout perched atop some kind of green vegetable and surrounded by a pool of butter sauce.</p><p>Tanith reached out for her cutlery and then hesitated, her hand hovering a few inches above the line of silverware. There were <em> four </em>forks in total, each slightly different in size and shape. Despite Clement’s best efforts she could not for the life of her remember which one of them she was supposed to use for fish.</p><p>“Three tines,” came a quiet voice from her left. “Closest to me.”</p><p>Tanith turned to see a man sitting next to her, a mask of engraved bronze covering the top half of his face. He wore his dark hair in a tail, and his clothes were less ostentatious than those of the other guests. The man did not look at Tanith as he spoke, but raised his fork and turned it subtly in her direction so she could see.</p><p>She picked up her own, deeply relieved for his intervention. Clement had told them stories about people being laughed out of the court for improper dinner etiquette. She did not especially feel like being one of them.</p><p>“Thank you,” she said, cutting off a piece of fish and lifting it to her mouth. It was much better than the soup had been, tender and melting on the tongue.</p><p>“It’s no trouble,” the man said. His voice was low and soft, barely above a whisper. “When I returned from service I could barely remember how to eat with a knife and fork, let alone all the other little rules. My aunt once banished me from her table for cutting potatoes with a cheese knife.”</p><p>Tanith smirked. “It’ll be a miracle if I get through dinner without making some kind of terrible error,” she said. “You might have to step in again.”</p><p>“Then I will consider that my duty for the evening.” He turned to face her for the first time, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Perhaps I shall not expire from boredom after all.”</p><p>“Not keen on this sort of thing, then?”</p><p>He shook his head. “Not at all. But I am being rude, of course. What may I call you, Grey Warden?”</p><p>“Tanith,” she said. “And you?”</p><p>“Bellegarde,” he said. His mouth made a thin line. “Comte Mathieu, if we are to be formal. But I would prefer to dispense with such titles, if it’s all the same. Bellegarde will suffice.”</p><p>Tanith tried to remember where a Comte would stand in the hierarchy of the Orlesian court, but could not recall the precise details. Needless to say, this man wielded far more power than she did. He seemed far more amenable towards her than most of the nobles she had met, however, and this could very well work in her advantage.</p><p>“Bellegarde it is,” she nodded. “You must know Duke Maxim, I take it?”</p><p>“My lands border his, though they are not so extensive,” he said. “Our families have known each other for years.”</p><p>“I don’t know much about the nobility,” she said honestly. “Didn’t exactly run in the same circles before I joined the Wardens.”</p><p>“I’ll confess to some curiosity on that point,” Bellegarde said, his grey eyes glinting behind the copper mask. “I have heard many tales of the Wardens, but have never had occasion to meet one for myself. It must be an exciting life.”</p><p>“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Tanith took a sip of the wine a silent footman had poured for her. It was light and crisp, tasting of citrus. “It’s mostly been training for me so far.”</p><p>“As with most martial professions,” he said. “You are sold a life of excitement and adventure, then spend most of your time sitting around waiting for something to happen.”</p><p>“I’ll take sitting around over being slaughtered by darkspawn.”</p><p>“Very wise.”</p><p>Bellegrade tipped his glass to her, smiling, but as he turned back around his expression grew curious. Tanith followed his gaze, and saw Blackwall staring daggers at him from across the table. She made a small, questioning gesture in his direction, but either he did not see it or chose to ignore it.</p><p>“Captain Rainier,” Bellegarde said. “There were rumours that you had joined the Wardens after the unpleasantness with Lord Callier. There was substance to them, I see.”</p><p>Tanith looked from one to the other, frowning. She knew that Blackwall had gone by a different name before joining the order, but had no idea that he had kept such highborn company. “You know each other, I see?”</p><p>“Unfortunately.” Blackwall’s voice was low in his throat.</p><p>“We served together in the Imperial army,” Bellegarde explained, his tone perfectly amiable. “I am glad to see you well.”</p><p>“I can’t say the same of you.”</p><p>Blackwall said the last loudly enough to draw the attention of several other guests. Tanith made a sharp motion with her hand, indicating that he should stop speaking. Her chances of learning anything useful from the dinner guests would be ruined if the Wardens caused a scene at the table. Bellegarde was the first noble who had shown any inclination to speak to her at all, and she had been hoping to press him for rumours over the course of the evening.</p><p>A number of people sitting nearby were already whispering to one another, and from the expression on his face Tanith was certain that Blackwall had no intention of backing down. Trying to keep the irritation from her face, she turned pointedly back towards Bellegarde.</p><p>“Are you competing in the tourney?” she asked.</p><p>“Ah, no,” he said. “Such days are behind me I’m afraid. Though my retainer is.”</p><p>The rest of the dinner passed with no further incident, though Tanith could almost feel Blackwall’s eyes burning into them up until the final course was cleared. She did her best to ignore it, and although Bellegrade proved to be a fine conversationalist he had little of note to say regarding the Duke. While their families had held adjacent territory for generations, the Comte spent little time at his home estate and was not overly involved in politics. Still, Tanith couldn’t help but wonder whether he would have been more forthcoming were it not for Blackwall’s little display.</p><p>When the meal was finished Duke Maxim rose from the table, his guests following suit. The nobles began filtering out of the room, chattering like sparrows as they headed off to play billiards or compare jewels or whatever it was rich people did with their spare time.</p><p>Before he left Bellegrade made a small, respectful bow towards Tanith, the light from the chandelier catching the intricate metalwork of his mask. “I owe you my thanks,” he said. “For rescuing me from an evening of drudgery.”</p><p>“And I owe you mine,” she said. “For saving me from a great deal of fork-based embarrassment.”</p><p>He laughed, the sound as low and quiet as his speech had been. “I hope we will see one another again before the end of the tourney, Tanith. Goodnight.”</p><p>Tanith nodded politely at him, then walked off in search of the other Wardens. She found them in the corridor outside the dining room, heading back towards the Freyan suite. When she caught up with them Tanith tapped Blackwall hard on the shoulder.</p><p>“You,” she said. “With me. <em> Now</em>.”</p><p>She grabbed him by his sleeve and dragged him down a side passage, not stopping until they were well out of the other guests’ earshot. Only then did she let him go.</p><p>“What was that back there?” she hissed. “What were you <em> thinking</em>?”</p><p>To her surprise, Blackwall did not appear remotely chastened. “Tanith, listen to me,” he said. “You don’t want anything to do with Mathieu Bellegarde. He’s the worst kind of social climber. If he—”</p><p>“Excuse me,” she said. “What business is it of yours who I speak to?”</p><p>Blackwall closed his eyes for a moment. “I knew Bellegarde for years.” He spoke slowly, as though she were incredibly stupid. “He’s not a good man.”</p><p>Tanith made an expansive gesture with both arms. “And why could I possibly want to talk to anyone with a less than savoury reputation?” she said. “It’s almost as though I was ordered to come here <em> as a spy</em>. What did you think I was going to do, listen at the Duke’s door with an empty glass? I have to <em> talk </em> to people, Blackwall. I have to have conversations with them. He’s the first noble I’ve managed to speak to since I got here—”</p><p>“Because he wants something from you,” Blackwall cut in, his eyes hard. “Trust me, that man does nothing without an agenda.”</p><p>“Neither do I!” she snapped. “Maker, I have a <em> job </em>to do, in case you’d forgotten.”</p><p>“And this is how you’re doing it?” he asked. “Making dinner conversation with people like that?”</p><p>There was something else in his pale eyes, something cold and resentful. Tanith took a step back, incredulous. “I see what this is,” she said. “You’re jealous.”</p><p>“Oh, Maker’s blood, I’m not—”</p><p>“You are!” She laughed in disbelief. “Well I’m sorry, but you can’t have it both ways.”</p><p>He scowled at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>“Please,” she spat. “You know exactly what it means.”</p><p>“Believe whatever you like,” Blackwall said, his voice dripping with irritation. “I’m trying to give you fair warning. If would just <em> listen</em>—”</p><p>Tanith reached up and pressed her finger hard against his lips. “Not another word,” she said. “Your job is convincing men who hit each other with sticks to drink darkspawn blood. Mine is finding out what’s going on in this house, in whatever way I see fit. I don’t tell you how to do your job, you don’t tell me how to do mine. Deal?” She let her arm fall back to her side.</p><p>“Fine.” He spoke through gritted teeth. “But you’re making a mistake.”</p><p>“Your objection has been noted.”</p><p>“Very well.” Blackwall smiled bitterly at her, making a low, sarcastic bow in her direction. “Goodnight, my lady.”</p><p>Unwilling to be outdone, Tanith dropped into a curtsy so low she almost toppled over. “Goodnight, <em> milord</em>.”</p><p>Then she straightened up and stalked back off in the direction of their rooms, not bothering to look back and see if he was following.</p><p>The others glanced up at her when she came storming back into the sitting room, but she ignored their greetings and returned directly to her bedchamber. Cold fury was coursing through her body, leaving her muscles tense and her stomach tight. Once inside she ripped the pins from her hair and sent them skittering across the dressing table. Snatching up a towel from the back of a chair, she sat down and began removing the cosmetics from her face. Tanith did this with rather more force than was necessary, rubbing at her skin until it tingled.</p><p>After she was finished undoing Romilly’s careful work she looked up at the mirror, saw how her face contorted with anger. She was breathing hard, her hands shaking at her sides. It was so like him, she thought. So like him to think he knew best in all things, to not trust her to do a job that Perchet had deemed her fit for. He was still the same rude, self-serving bastard who she had been forced to follow around Orlais for months, and now his interference may have cost her the first decent contact she had at Chateau Lavigne. Wonderful. Perfect.</p><p>Well, Tanith thought, if this was how he wanted to behave then so be it. He had been less than useless in Orzammar, when all was said and done. It was her efforts that had uncovered the Warden-Commander’s secrets, not his.</p><p>She could, and would, do this without his help.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Scars Beyond Counting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he woke the morning after the dinner party Blackwall found that his mood had not improved in the slightest. It did not improve when he climbed from his overstuffed feather mattress, nor when he splashed lavender-scented water over his face, nor when he noticed the sun slanting in through the leaded windows. In fact, the only time it <em> did </em>improve was when he walked out into the sitting room to discover that Tanith was not there.</p><p>Not that this was a surprise. Tanith was lazy, rarely rising before noon unless forced to. For all of her posturing about the importance of her role, it didn’t seem to be important enough to warrant rolling out of bed an hour earlier than was necessary.</p><p>Nataly was at the breakfast table already, picking idly at some delicate little pastry. “Morning,” she said. “You ready to go?”</p><p>He nodded.</p><p>“By the way,” she said, getting to her feet. “Remember what I said about causing problems? That display last night is exactly what I was talking about.”</p><p>“What display?”</p><p>“Oh, please. Tanith spends five minutes alone with you then starts slamming doors like she’s got a grudge against them.”</p><p>“How is that my fault?” Blackwall protested.</p><p>“No idea,” Nataly said. “But I’m sure it is.”</p><p>They headed down to the tourney ground early, knowing that the melee would draw a decent crowd and that seats would be hard to come by. As expected, the stalls were already half-full by the time they arrived. Nataly shot a hard look at a group of men taking up one of the front benches, and they moved aside quickly to make room for her. The dwarf was always useful to have around when you couldn’t find a table in a tavern. One glance at her heavy armour and scar-crossed scalp and most people were swift to give up their places.</p><p>“You just going to stand there or what?” Nataly asked when Blackwall didn’t take the seat next to her.</p><p>“Not yet,” he said. “I’ll be back in a minute.”</p><p>Blackwall made his way out into the stands, keeping a careful watch on those sitting in the front rows. Many of the common folk who had come early to the tourney ground were treating it like a festival occasion, and were well on their way to drunkenness already. This was as much of a tradition in itself as any other part of the competition. He passed one group of men slurring their way through a popular tavern song, forgetting half as many words as they remembered, and another who seemed keen to begin a smaller, more personal melee among themselves.</p><p>Eventually Blackwall found who he was looking for. The man looked unremarkable enough, though a close inspection of his attire would reveal that it was of finer make than the homespun most of the other spectators wore. It was the tattoo on the back of his hand that gave him away, a horseshoe pointing up towards his wrist. There would be two dozen bookmakers in the crowd that day, scam merchants who poached coppers from drunkards, but this man was something different. Accountants were to common bookies as bards were to minstrels.</p><p>Blackwall leaned against the fence beside the man, looking out across the arena with its fresh-laid coating of sand. The barrier that marked the lists had been removed for the melee, leaving the space entirely open. Within an hour it would be full of the crash of sword and steel, the roar of battle.</p><p>The accountant was a tall, thin man, his wrinkled skin well-tanned from the sun. “Lovely weather we’re having,” he said, not turning around.</p><p>“It is,” Blackwall replied. “Though I think we’ll get rain later.”</p><p>It was a code of sorts, an indication that you were a serious punter. Accountants did not deal in two-penny bets. Their stakes were more competitive, and their prices along with them.</p><p>The tall man nodded slowly, rolling out his shoulders. “What’ll it be?” he asked. “I’ll give you nine-to-one on Lady Mantillon’s champion if there’s gold in your purse. Won’t find better odds.”</p><p>“Only silver, I’m afraid,” Blackwall said. “Though if you’ve any tips I’d be glad to hear them.”</p><p>This was what he was really seeking. An accountant would know the names of every one of the competitors in the ring that day, their rank and titles, their martial history. It was likely this man would be able to give him a good idea of which competitors might suit the Warden ranks.</p><p>The accountant sucked his teeth speculatively. “Can never go wrong with a flutter on a chevalier,” he said, “and there’s half a dozen in the ring today.”</p><p>“Anything a little more interesting?”</p><p>“Hmm,” he said. “If you’re looking for a dark horse, I’d recommend putting your money on Corentin Lagrange.”</p><p>“No title?”</p><p>The accountant shook his head. “No title,” he said. “Not much history either, save for a tour in the Dales, but he’s been cutting a swathe through the northern tourneys the past half year. Come close to winning more than a few times.”</p><p>“Is he in service?”</p><p>“If he is, he’s not pledged it openly yet.”</p><p>This was promising. In Orlais, most commoners who entered tourneys did so with either a decorated military record or a noble sponsor. Some lords enjoyed playing patron to particularly talented competitors, those who might display their colours during a victory. It could be that this Lagrange was still a free agent.</p><p>“What do you reckon?” the accountant asked. “Fancy a wager?”</p><p>Blackwall eyed him. “What are the odds?”</p><p>“For three silvers I’ll give you thirteen-to-one on him.”</p><p>That was generous enough. Though he had little of his own coin to part with, Blackwall handed the accountant three silvers in exchange for a marked slip of paper. It might be a small price, if Lagrange proved a decent candidate for the Wardens.</p><p>Blackwall returned to his seat just as the first competitors were being called. The announcer, his voice just as booming as the day before, spoke each warrior’s house and position as he walked out to take his place in the ring.</p><p>“Where have you been?” Nataly asked.</p><p>“Working,” Blackwall said. “Listen out for a man named Lagrange. He might be worth keeping an eye on.”</p><p>There were numerous types of melee practised at tourneys across southern Thedas. In Ferelden mounted combat was more common, and in some Marcher states the competitors were split into teams. Duke Maxim’s tourney was more traditional, with several dozen warriors fighting alone and on foot for the final prize. Blackwall watched the warriors carefully as they entered the ring, sizing up their chances. Alongside the yellow-plumed chevaliers there were other members of the Imperial army, personal guards of the nobility and the odd younger son who fancied himself a warrior.</p><p>In the end, Lagrange was the only competitor who was called without rank or title. He was a young, stocky man, his armour plain and unadorned, and he carried himself with no obvious confidence as he walked to take his place in the ring. Blackwall began to suspect that he would never be seeing those three silvers again.</p><p>When the last combatant had stepped forward the announcer retreated to the edge of the ring. At his signal a steward raised the flag high, then dropped it to much raucous cheering from the crowd.</p><p>The first few minutes were impossible to follow, as was always the case with such events. Half a hundred armoured men kicking up sand as they fought left the ring little more than a pale haze, the clash of metal deafening as the warriors fell upon one another. Blackwall remembered the fear and thrill that came during this part, the raw exhilaration of fighting when you could barely see your sword in front of you. More than half of the competitors would fall before the dust had settled, crumpling to the floor to be dragged out of harm’s way by a burly servant or two.</p><p>Sure enough, when the tourney ground came back into focus the numbers were depleted, with the warriors remaining having broken into three loose groups. Blackwall looked for Largrange, and found him engaged with a chevalier on the far side of the ring. His form was good, careful and clean, though he carried himself more like a mercenary than a soldier. If he truly hadn’t sworn fealty yet, he might make a fine recruit.</p><p>The group of competitors nearest to Blackwall was the first to splinter, a brute of a man with a greatsword making quick work of the three who had attempted to overpower him. Once alone he rushed at the second group, where two pairs of warriors were facing one another in single combat. The huge man barrelled into the fray, knocking all the participants off balance. This created a distraction long enough for one of the chevaliers to take out his opponent, only to be downed himself a moment later.</p><p>When there were only half a dozen combatants left the pace seemed to slow for a while, the individual fights lasting longer now that only the most skilled remained. Two of the warriors in Lagrange’s cluster, a man wielding handaxes and a woman with sword and shield, had focused their efforts in on him. Lagrange barely gave an inch as they attempted to rout him into a corner, pressing forward with remarkable audacity instead of taking up the defence. Blackwall watched him feint to the left, drawing the woman off-balance, before stepping cleanly to the side and bringing his shield up into the visor of the man’s helmet. The blow landed with a <em> crack </em> that echoed through the tourney ground, and the man’s axes fell to the floor a fraction of a second before he did.</p><p>By this time the beast with the greatsword had knocked out everyone on his side of the ground, and was charging towards Lagrange and the woman. The two of them shared the briefest of glances before turning around to face him together. This boded well. There was no room for individualism in the Grey Wardens, and recruits who were capable of working with others tended to fare better in the order. This, Blackwall reflected, was another problem with Tanith. She thought she could work entirely alone, with no input or assistance from anyone else, regardless of how little she might know about a situation. One of her many flaws.</p><p>Blackwall was so occupied with this train of thought that he missed the next part entirely, and when he looked up again Lagrange and the warrior with the greatsword were the only two combatants remaining.</p><p>“Good tip,” Nataly said, nudging Blackwall in the ribs with her elbow. “Though I think he’s about to get flattened.”</p><p>Lagrange held his shield close to his chest as the taller man approached him. He darted out of the way of a wide sweep of his opponent’s weapon, then lunged forward again. His blow landed on the huge man’s chest, knocking him half a step backwards, and Lagrange pushed on without pause. The tall man had reach, but he was slow, and while Lagrange was near to him he could do very little to hold him back. It was a close, tense few minutes’ fighting, and Blackwall gripped his seat when he saw the great ox of a man stab upwards, aiming for the weak point above Lagrange’s gorget. It would have been a fatal gambit, had it paid off, but Lagrange was too quick for him. He leaned back, swung forward, and a moment later the tall man was flat on his back in the dust.</p><p>The crowd exploded into applause. Blackwall joined in, as much for the silver that would soon be lining his pockets as the bout itself. Two servants rushed in to drag the swordsman’s prone form out of the ring while the announcer walked over to Lagrange. He presented him with his trophy, Duke Maxim’s fish sigil cast in gold, which Lagrange lifted high for the crowd to see. This was rewarded with more cheers, but they quickly died down when he handed it back to the announcer and signalled for quiet.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Nataly asked, frowning.</p><p>Lagrange was unbuckling a pouch at his hip, reaching inside it to draw something out.</p><p>Blackwall’s stomach dropped. “He’s got a patron,” he said. “Shit.”</p><p>“Why wasn’t it announced?”</p><p>“Some nobles don’t like to claim sponsorship until their protege wins their first victory,” he said, his voice heavy with disapproval. “It’s pointless. Showy.”</p><p>In the centre of the ring, Lagrange unfolded the fabric in his hands and spread it out proudly for the crowd to see. A banner of burgundy and bronze, a nowed wyvern emblazoned in its centre.</p><p>“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Blackwall said.</p><p>“What?” Nataly said. “What house is that?”</p><p>He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Bellegarde.”</p><p>“Who?” Nataly frowned for a moment, then her eyes went wide. “Oh. <em> Oh</em>. Shit.”</p><p>Blackwall got to his feet. “I think I’m done here.”</p><p>“What, so we’re not even going to talk to him?”</p><p>“What’s the point?” He gestured to the ring. “The lad’s just announced his patronage in front of a thousand people. He’s not about to jump ship to join the Wardens.”</p><p>“I suppose not,” Nataly sighed. “Is there any point speaking to any of them?”</p><p>Blackwall had no desire to remain at the tourney ground any longer than was necessary, knowing that he’d turn around at precisely the wrong moment and see Bellegarde’s smug face looking back at him. “You can if you want,” he said. “I’m heading back up.”</p><p>Nataly shrugged. “I’ll come with you. We’ve got five more days, right? Plenty of time.”</p><p>After a brief detour to collect his winnings — he was not so irritated that he would pass up almost forty silver — Blackwall returned to Chateau Lavigne with Nataly. They talked as they made their way to the Freyan suite, avoiding the topic of the melee. For a while there Blackwall had almost managed to forget the morning’s foul mood, but now it had returned with a vengeance. It was a trying, gritty kind of anger, like having a stone in his boot that would not be shaken out.</p><p>This ill temper continued when he walked into the suite and found the rest of the Wardens in the middle of lunch with Sofie, laughing at some comment he had arrived too late to hear. It seemed impossibly unfair that they had been sitting here eating canapes while he had been out watching Bellegarde’s new pet win the melee.</p><p>Hywel, Clement and Sofie all waved a greeting when they arrived, pulling out chairs and gesturing towards what was left of their luncheon. Tanith glanced up, smiling brightly in their direction.</p><p>“Hello Nataly,” she said, then pointedly turned back around.</p><p>Maker, this woman.</p><p>When they were seated Clement fidgeted nervously in his chair. “No luck at the melee?”</p><p>“No,” Blackwall said. He did not elaborate.</p><p>“That’s a shame,” Clement said. “Listen.” He glanced from Tanith to Hywel to his sister. “We decided to tell Sofie the whole story. About why we’re here.”</p><p>Blackwall frowned at him. “Was that wise?”</p><p>“Who died and made you King of the Grey Wardens?” Tanith said, in a stage whisper so loud they probably heard it in Antiva.</p><p>“I don’t mean offence,” Blackwall said, ignoring her. “We just don’t know whether it’s safe.”</p><p>“I don’t think I’ve anything to fear from father, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Sofie said easily. “He’s a horrid old codger but he’s not the type to lock me in a tower. Frankly I’m glad Clem told me.” Several thin lines appeared on her forehead. “I’d heard nothing about the darkspawn. Not a word. But things have been a little… odd here, these past few months.”</p><p>“Odd how?” Nataly asked.</p><p>Sofie shrugged. “It’s hard to explain. Quieter. Adrien’s been visiting Val Royeaux more often.”</p><p>“That doesn’t sound too unusual,” Blackwall said carefully. “Isn’t it usual, for nobles to be at court?”</p><p>“Not like this.” Sofie shook her head. “Used to be he was forever on pleasure jaunts to the capital, incurable dandy he is. But these recent trips, they’ve not been like that. He looks grim when he leaves and worse when he gets back. He doesn’t take any of his attendants with him.”</p><p>Blackwall was not entirely convinced by this, though he kept his mouth shut. A young nobleman going on holiday without a full retinue of fawning admirers did not seem like a thing worth worrying about.</p><p>“You will keep this quiet, won’t you Sof?” Clement said, laying his hand over hers.</p><p>“Don’t be silly,” she said. “Of course I will. Maker, I just can’t believe there’s been darkspawn on our front door and no one thought to tell me.”</p><p>“There couldn’t be a chance that your father doesn’t know himself?” Hywel asked. “The Warden-Constable’s written to him, but if there’s someone else who handles his business…” he trailed off expectantly.</p><p>“Afraid not,” she sighed. “He’s terribly fastidious about that kind of thing. Doesn’t even have a secretary. Unless all of those letters got lost on the way, father’s certainly aware of what’s happening.”</p><p>“So— bloody <em> why</em>, then?” Clement burst out, in a rare display of exasperation. “Maybe I should just march up there and ask him. Lady’s mercy, he’s letting people <em> die</em>.”</p><p>Sofie’s eyes were gentle when she looked at him. “Clem, you know that won’t work,” she said. “If father doesn’t want something discussed then he won’t budge an inch. I should know. I’ve asked him about the University every day for the past year, it’s like getting blood from a stone. He’d sooner throw you out than talk to you, if his mind’s set.”</p><p>“I know.” Clement collapsed back in his chair, defeated. “I feel like I’m twelve years old again.”</p><p>Sofie huffed out a laugh. “He has that effect, doesn’t he? So. What’s your plan, then?”</p><p>Everyone turned to Tanith. She gave an expansive shrug, resting her boots on an empty chair. “I have my ways.”</p><p>“What, taking naps and griping?” Blackwall muttered.</p><p>She glared at him. “Better than sitting on my ass watching men fall off horses.”</p><p>“Tanith,” Hywel said, getting quickly to his feet. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we? Find somewhere we can train without anyone calling for the Templars.”</p><p>For a moment Tanith sat motionless, dark eyes still fixed on Blackwall. Then she got to her feet, picking up her staff from where it rested against the table before following Hywel out of the room.</p><p>“My word,” Sofie said once they had gone, a tiny smile playing around her mouth. “There’s a story there.”</p><p>“Trust me,” Blackwall said, scowling at the closed door. “There isn’t.”</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. They Shall Find No Rest In This World</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Breathe in,” Hywel said, “and hold.”</p><p>Tanith did as he asked, taking in a lungful of flower-scented air and holding it in her chest. She tried to focus on the movement of her diaphragm, the stillness of her ribcage, but these things were easier said than done. She and her trainer were sitting in an out-of-the-way spot in the chateau’s gardens, and even with her eyes closed Tanith found plenty to distract her. There were bees buzzing uncomfortably close to her face, fountains burbling on the other side of topiaried hedges, the occasional titter of a laugh from some noble passing nearby. It was all of it irritating, and she could barely keep her thoughts straight for the span of a held breath.</p><p>She heard Hywel exhale and went to mimic him, but the overwhelming smell of hydrangeas caught in her nose and left her sneezing instead. Their training session was not going especially well.</p><p>“You are tense, da’len,” Hywel said.</p><p>Tanith opened her eyes. He looked so <em> calm</em>, cross-legged and straight-backed on the grass, his hands held loosely at his sides. This only served to annoy her further, and she unfolded her own legs before speaking.</p><p>“This isn’t working,” she said. “It’s harder here than at Fort Astor.”</p><p>Hywel sighed. “On the battleground it will be harder still.”</p><p>“Except it isn’t though,” she said, stretching out the stiffness in her knees. “It’s easier when I’m not thinking about it so much.”</p><p>“You cannot simply rely on instinct,” he said. “Sooner or later you have to learn mastery of your craft, else it will fail you.”</p><p>“I don’t see how sitting in a garden and breathing is going to help with my magic.”</p><p>“I had hoped that being closer to nature might assist with your concentration.” Hywel’s ears flickered irritably. “Though this well-preened little plot is hardly ideal. The Dalish—”</p><p>“I’m not Dalish though, am I?” Tanith said. “I think you forget that sometimes. You grew up with your magic, you grew up with nature. That’s not me, Hy.” She gestured to the flowerbeds, the earth, his meditative posture. “None of this is me.”</p><p>For a long moment he simply looked at her, his eyes curious. “No, I suppose it isn’t.”</p><p>“This is pointless.” She collapsed back onto the grass, watching thin wisps of cloud drift across the clear sky. “You said it yourself, you got to me too late. I think this is just how I am.”</p><p>“You are twisting my meaning, da’len, and you know it. We just have to keep trying.”</p><p>“Can’t you just hand me off to someone else?” she asked. “Get me trained up in stabbing people? I reckon I’d be good at that.”</p><p>Hywel tilted his head speculatively. “You might,” he admitted. “But it would be a waste of a fine gift.”</p><p>“Whatever.”</p><p>“I take it that you will not be engaging with any more of my tuition today?”</p><p>“I will not.”</p><p>“Very well,” he shrugged. “Are you coming back up?”</p><p>Tanith considered this for a moment, but the thought of having to spend another minute in the same room as Blackwall was not particularly appealing. “I think I’ll stay out here a while.”</p><p>“As you wish.”</p><p>He walked off in the direction of Chateau Lavigne, leaving Tanith alone in the garden. The area she was lying in was secluded, little more than a square of neatly trimmed grass surrounded by hedges on three sides. The sun was no longer high overhead, but the ground was warm even in the shade.</p><p>Tanith dozed off for a while, lulled by the heat, and when she woke again it was almost evening. She was hungry now, but still not in the mood to return to the Freyan suite. Instead she picked up her staff and walked back towards the chateau, wondering whether she could sneak something from the kitchens.</p><p>She had only made it a few paces up the garden path when something caught her eye. Several nobles were clustered around one of the estate’s many fountains, whispering to one another as they glanced up at the water feature. It was easy to see why. The statue in its centre, a bronze depiction of some Desmarais ancestor, was daubed all over with red paint. Crossed eyes and a lolling tongue had been drawn over its face, and there were several crude words written across the metal of its back. Tanith took a few steps closer, and heard how the nobles’ outraged words covered their delight in this petty scandal.</p><p>An elven servant came walking past, his arms full of netting, and was collared by one of the masked onlookers.</p><p>“You, boy,” he said. “Fetch someone to clean this at once.”</p><p>The servant looked up at the statue, swallowed, then nodded. “Of course, milord.”</p><p>He carried on his way, his path taking him straight past the place where Tanith was standing. She saw the way he fought to keep the grin from his face, how his shoulders trembled with barely-contained laughter.</p><p>Tanith kept her eyes on the servants as she made her way back into the chateau, hoping that by following them she might be able to find the kitchens. She walked through a side passage and down a narrow set of stairs, then through a wide, dimly-lit corridor in which the distant sound of industry could be heard. Several masked servants gave her odd looks as she passed, but none of them tried to stop her. Holding the vaunted position of one of the Duke’s guests likely meant that she could go most places she pleased.</p><p>As she turned a corner Tanith almost collided with Romilly. The lady’s maid jumped when she saw her, one hand flying to her chest.</p><p>“Apologies, madame,” she said. “You startled me. What are you doing down here?”</p><p>“Looking for the kitchens,” Tanith said. “I’m starving.”</p><p>“I can have a repast brought to your rooms—”</p><p>“No, thank you.” She shook her head. “I’m sick to the teeth of rich people food. Just want one decent meal.”</p><p>Romilly looked both ways along the corridor, then placed her fingers lightly on Tanith’s shoulder. “Come with me.”</p><p>They travelled through the labyrinthine passages beneath the chateau, Romilly leading the way while Tanith followed a few paces behind. As they walked Tanith glanced through open doorways, curious as to what work went into keeping the house running. There were chambers where clothes hung ready for mending, rooms no bigger than cupboards where liveried men polished silver, laundries that belched clouds of steam into the corridor.</p><p>“It is busier than usual,” Romilly said as they sidestepped a group of servants carrying a heavy chest. “Every guest Duke Maxim hosts brings some of their household along with them. They like everything just so, and our ways may be different to theirs.” There was a touch of irritation in her voice.</p><p>“How many of these people work for the Duke?” Tanith asked.</p><p>“Half.” Romilly shrugged. “Less than half, perhaps. Chateau Lavigne keeps a smaller staff than it used to.”</p><p>Before Tanith could ask why this was, Romilly had opened a door and gestured for her to enter. The room beyond was small, most of the floor taken up by a large table covered in sewing patterns and half-stitched pieces of fabric. A rack along one wall contained a dozen bolts of rich cloth, and a shelf held jars of buttons, bobbins of cotton, spools of ribbon and lace.</p><p>“We won’t be disturbed here,” Romilly said. “One moment.”</p><p>She left the way she had come, closing the door gently behind her. Tanith made a circuit of the small room, stroking her fingers across the velvet and silk that lay on the table. Idly she wondered how much this material was worth, compared to the cheap linen and homespun she had worn for most of her life. The dye alone must be worth something. In the alienage one never saw colours like this, emeralds and indigos and scarlets. Everything existed across a spectrum of grey and brown, with little else in the middle.</p><p>A few moments later Romilly returned, carrying a tray heavy with food. She balanced it expertly on one hand as she cleared the surface of the table, then set it down. There was half a loaf of barley bread, a pot of apricot preserves, two bowls of stewed lentils and, best of all, several slices of rare beef still warm from the spit.</p><p>“My hero,” Tanith said, pulling up a low stool. “Are you sure this is alright?”</p><p>“Of course,” Romilly said. “I am simply seeing to the wishes of our guests.” She smiled, cutting a slice off the loaf.</p><p>For few minutes Tanith was too absorbed in eating to make conversation. Ever since she had arrived at Chateau Lavigne she had been craving food of this sort, something plain and hearty and unpretentious. The unctuous, milk-rich food the nobles ate was passable, but it was often tepid by the time it reached the table and never seemed to fill her up.</p><p>“Maker, I needed that,” Tanith sighed, wiping up the last of the lentils with a hunk of bread. “I don’t know how they live on that stuff. You know there were <em> actual flowers </em>on the dessert the other night?”</p><p>“Nasturtiums, probably,” Romilly said. “They’re quite fashionable at the moment.”</p><p>“How can a— never mind.” Tanith shook her head, then glanced around the tiny chamber. “Is this your room, then?”</p><p>The lady’s maid shrugged. “More or less. It belongs to my position rather than to me. Lady Sofie gives me her designs, I sew them.”</p><p>“Sofie designs her own clothes?” Tanith asked, a little surprised.</p><p>“Most of them,” Romilly nodded. “She has quite a talent for it. I sew the larger pieces, and she takes care of the finer embroidery.”</p><p>Now that she mentioned it, Tanith could see how Sofie’s garments differed from those of the other nobles. Her gowns were elegant but simply cut, often with clever little motifs of insects or birds at the cuffs and collar.</p><p>“What’s it like working for her?” Tanith asked. She liked Sofie, and trusted that Clement’s decision to bring her into the Wardens’ confidence had been the right one, but often servants had an insight into their masters’ character that others lacked.</p><p>“I am one of the lucky ones,” Romilly said. “Sofie is kind. She speaks to me like a person. There are plenty of ladies at court who treat their lapdogs better than their servants.”</p><p>Tanith was surprised by her sudden candour. She wondered whether Romilly was lonely, having to live here without her family. Lady’s maids were fairly high in the understairs hierarchy, and it was likely that she did not mix with the other servants often.</p><p>“I knew a lad back home,” Tanith said. “Stableboy at the de Montfort estate. One of their best dams dropped a stillborn foal, and he got beaten bloody for it. Like it was his fault.”</p><p>“It happens more often than you would think.” Romilly chewed at her lip. “I thought Duke Maxim might thrash poor Gervaise earlier, when he found the hive.”</p><p>“The what?”</p><p>Romilly’s eyes went owlishly wide. “You haven’t heard? I thought the whole estate would have found out by now. Gossip travels quickly here.”</p><p>“I’ve been in the gardens all afternoon,” Tanith said.</p><p>The lady’s maid leaned across the table, her voice low. “Duke Maxim came back to the chateau after the melee,” he said. “Went to his office. Found a <em> beehive </em> under his desk.”</p><p>Tanith frowned at her, certain she hadn’t heard properly. “A beehive?”</p><p>“Yes,” Romilly nodded. “He almost put his foot straight through it, by all accounts. They’ve been trying to get them out for hours.”</p><p>“And no one knows who put it there?”</p><p>“No idea. But the study is kept locked when the Duke isn’t there. It was either somebody with a key, or else a very skilled burglar.”</p><p>“Did they take anything?”</p><p>“Not as far as I know,” Romilly said. “Perhaps burglar isn’t the right word. What it’s called when somebody breaks into a room and leaves something behind?”</p><p>“Genius?” Tanith suggested.</p><p>Romilly laughed, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. “Truly, I shouldn’t,” she said. “But his face, Maker… the staff have been in good spirits all afternoon.”</p><p>Tanith recalled the statue in the garden, the way the elven servant had laughed as he passed her. The timing seemed too convenient to be mere coincidence. Of course the most obvious explanation was that the servants themselves were carrying out these small acts of sabotage, but what servant would risk it? Tanith didn’t doubt that the punishments for such transgressions would be unnecessarily harsh.</p><p>“I should go,” Romilly said, stacking the plates back onto the tray. “I will need to help Ladie Sofie dress for dinner soon.”</p><p>“Thank you for that.” Tanith nodded to the remains of the meal. “I really appreciate it.”</p><p>The lady’s maid smiled. “You’re welcome,” she said. “It was nice to have someone to talk to.”</p><p>Tanith walked with Romilly as far as the ground floor, then headed back towards the gardens. It was almost full dark now, and she was certain that if she waited for an hour or two everyone would have gone to bed by the time she returned to the Freyan suite. The wide paths and bowers were lit by hanging lamps, the scent of the flowers less overpowering in the evening air. Tanith walked past the defaced statue, where two servants were still in the process of scrubbing the paint from the metal. It didn’t seem to be doing much good, however, and most of the obscene text was still perfectly legible.</p><p>She wandered aimlessly between the hedges and flowerbeds for a while, trying to keep a wide berth of the noble couples on their nighttime strolls. There was always a chance that someone might recognise her as one of the Duke’s guests and try to engage her in conversation, which was presently not an attractive prospect. Tanith wanted time to think, to piece together the little scraps and clues she had picked up over the past two days. The shepherd’s hut, the statue, the beehive. Individually none of these things seemed particularly significant, but put together they suggested something larger at play. What that was, however, Tanith couldn’t begin to puzzle out.</p><p>She found a low stone bench tucked away between two bushes and sat down on it, running her fingers absently over the carvings on her staff. Five days of the tourney left, and barely the slightest idea where to begin. What would Margot say, if she came back to Fort Astor with nothing to show for herself? Would she pause her training again, send her back out on recruitment?</p><p>Tanith scowled at the thought. She was certain that she and Blackwall wouldn’t make it one day on the road without tearing out each other’s throats. Not now. He had been predictably sullen ever since their argument the night before, not budging an inch despite clearly being in the wrong. How he could justify interfering in Tanith’s work on the basis of a personal grudge, she could not fathom. Still, she had to admit a certain degree of curiosity. It was not that she had liked Bellegarde, exactly — there was too much alienage in her to trust a noble shem that quickly — but she had not disliked him either. He seemed friendly enough, and had not been patronising even when assisting her at dinner. Tanith wondered what had caused so much animosity between him and Blackwall.</p><p>A pair of nobles had been walking towards her from the far end of the gardens as she mused on this, whispering to one another behind their fans. Tanith paid them little attention until a high scream came from their direction, loud enough to wake the dead. She sprang to her feet without thinking, staff in her hand, and turned to face them.</p><p>They were standing beneath one of the garden’s hanging lamps, its soft light illuminating the delicate gold of their masks and the flawless silk of their garments. Well, not so flawless any more. At first Tanith had thought that they had been attacked, and were drenched in blood, but when she squinted she saw that it was nothing of the sort. It was paint. Red paint.</p><p>There was the slightest rustling in the bush to Tanith’s left, the barest whisper of a laugh. Someone was there, hiding. Whoever it was would certainly have been close enough to launch a missile in the nobles’ direction. Turning on her heel, Tanith pointed her staff in the vague direction of the sound.</p><p>“Who’s there?” she called.</p><p>Nothing happened. The bush remained perfectly still, not a single leaf out of place. Tanith took a few cautious steps towards it, wondering whether she had imagined the noise.</p><p>“Come out,” she said, trying to make her voice as firm as possible. “Show yourself.”</p><p>For the space of three breaths there was nothing. Then a figure tore out of the shrubbery and ran full pelt away from Tanith, its footsteps loud against the gravel path. Tanith was so surprised that it took her almost a full second to take up the chase, by which time the figure was little more than a dark smudge in the distance.</p><p>Still she followed, calling out futile entreaties for her quarry to stop, to speak to her. They didn’t slow their pace, just barrelled forward through the shadowed maze of the gardens. Whoever this person was, they had little respect for the carefully-tended plants. They cut directly across ornamental flowerbeds, tearing through clipped bushes, vaulting over raised beds.</p><p>Tanith did her best to keep up, but before long her chest was burning and a layer of sweat had blossomed on her forehead. They were approaching the border of the estate now, heading for the tall hedge that surrounded Chateau Lavigne. Vainly she hoped that the person she was chasing would simply stop once they realised they had run out of ground to cover, but instead they dropped to the floor and squeezed underneath the foliage.</p><p>“Shit,” Tanith gasped, pausing briefly to catch her breath. “Alright. Fine.”</p><p>She ran the last few feet to the hedge and dropped to her knees, then crawled underneath the shrubbery. It was a tight fit, the twigs scratching at her face, and carrying her staff made the process twice as difficult. Eventually she managed to drag herself through to the other side, staggering to her feet as she glanced around for her quarry.</p><p>At first she thought she had lost them, but a moment later she caught sight of a dark shape sprinting down the hillside. Tanith set off in their direction, half-running, half-stumbling down the slope. They were on the estate lands now, the acres of field and forest and pastureland that surrounded the chateau. There was no way that Tanith could track this person in the dark, not without catching up to them. Belatedly she remembered that she had other tools at her disposal.</p><p>She kept her eyes trained on the fleeing figure as she stopped, drawing a little magic into herself. Once she felt her fingers tingle Tanith flung her staff out in front of her, aiming for the ground, and channeled the energy outwards. A long sheet of ice spread out across the hillside, heading ever-closer to its target. Then Tanith heard a skid, a thump, and a decidedly feminine curse.</p><p>Tanith kindled a light in her palm as she ran to where her quarry had fallen, wishing that she had the ability to conjure something better than the dim, flickering thing in her hand. She slowed her pace a little as she drew closer, keeping her staff levelled. No telling what was waiting for her.</p><p>The first thing her light illuminated was an arrowhead, wickedly sharp and pointing straight in her direction. Tanith stopped short, breathing hard. She forced herself to calm as she took one slow step forward, holding her light out in front of her.</p><p>There, lying flat on her back on the rapidly-melting sheet of ice, was a woman. An elven woman, to be precise, her blonde hair cut short around her scowling face. She held her bow at full-draw in Tanith’s direction, and there was no doubt in Tanith’s mind that she was prepared to use it.</p><p>“Don’t come any closer,” the woman said.</p><p>Tanith fought to keep her voice level. “I’m not going to,” she said. “I just want to know who you are.”</p><p>“Who’s asking?”</p><p>“I’m Tanith,” she said.</p><p>The woman tilted her head to get a better look at her. “You’re a Grey Warden,” she said. “You one of the ones staying in the big house?”</p><p>“Yes,” Tanith said. “And you are?”</p><p>“Not bloody likely,” she snorted. “You’re going to let me leave now, alright? Arrow in the face if you try and stop me.”</p><p>“I could set you alight before your finger moved off that bowstring,” Tanith said. A complete and utter lie, but a good one.</p><p>The woman shifted a little where she lay. That had rattled her. “What do you want?” she asked. “You didn’t chase me down here to ask my name. No one’s that friendly.”</p><p>“You threw paint at those nobles, didn’t you?”</p><p>“Yeah.” She shrugged as best she could from her prone position. “What’s your point?”</p><p>“It was you who painted the statue as well, wasn’t it?” Tanith asked. “And you put that beehive in the Duke’s office.”</p><p>“So what if I did? Don’t see why you’re so bothered.” The woman gave an uncomfortable little wriggle. “Look, I’m going to put this down now, alright? My arms are killing. Don’t set me on fire or anything, yeah?”</p><p>“Of course.” For her part, Tanith lowered her staff as well. She had no intention of getting into a fight with this person.</p><p>The woman withdrew her arrow and got to her feet, wincing a little as she returned it to her quiver. “Dirty trick that. The ice. Bloody mages. Too clever by half.”</p><p>A thought suddenly occurred to Tanith. “Are you Jenny?”</p><p>“No,” the woman frowned. “Well, yeah. Sort of. How do you know about that?”</p><p>“I heard some of the servants talking about you,” she said. “They were having some kind of problem with the Duke. Said they needed to speak to Jenny about it.”</p><p>“Why does a Grey Warden give a shit about some Duke’s servants?”</p><p>Tanith paused for a moment. Whoever this woman was, it was obvious that she knew something about what was going on at the estate. This might be her first decent chance at gaining information worth knowing. Honesty, then.</p><p>“The Warden-Constable sent me to investigate Duke Maxim,” Tanith said. “There’s darkspawn running wild on his lands and he won’t do a thing about it. I’m here to find out what’s going on, and I think you might know something.”</p><p>The woman gave her a searching look. “Heard about that,” she said. “Few of the servants here have family down in the village. Been scared shitless for months.”</p><p>“Is that why you’re here, then?” Tanith asked, suddenly hopeful. “Are you looking into the darkspawn too?”</p><p>“No. Not really, anyway.”</p><p>“So <em> what</em>, then? What’s with the paint and the statues and the beehives? Maker, who <em> are </em> you?”</p><p>The woman sighed. “Look, just listen, alright? Only going to say this once.” She lifted a hand to push her hair back from her face. “When little people, like them up at the big house, have problems, they ask Red Jenny for help. That’s me. I’m a Friend of Red Jenny, yeah? And I’m Sera. You with me so far?”</p><p>Tanith wasn’t, but she nodded anyway.</p><p>“Your man up there, Duke Fishy, he’s not been paying his servants proper,” he said. “Not for months. Short coin, or else nothing at all. Some of them asked my Friends for help, here I am. Come to sort things out, yeah?”</p><p>This, at least, was interesting. Duke Maxim wasn’t paying his staff what they were owed— no wonder the tourney servants had been so put out when Tanith told them she was a hireling. Another small piece of the puzzle.</p><p>“So you’re… attacking him with bees?” Tanith asked. “What, is he allergic or something?”</p><p>Sera sighed. “No,” she said. “That’s just for fun, yeah? Cause some trouble, make everyone feel better for a while. Shit boss all covered in beestings, his guests all covered in paint. Everyone likes to see it. Everyone who isn’t posh, anyway.”</p><p>“But that’s not your whole plan, right?”</p><p>“Course not,” she frowned. “Trying to find out what’s happening. Figuring out how to get his purse open again.”</p><p>Tanith nodded slowly. “Listen,” she said. “I have a proposal.”</p><p>Sera narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”</p><p>“We’re both looking into the Duke’s business, yes?” Tanith said. “Seems to me that we’d have better luck if we helped each other out.”</p><p>“Helped like how?”</p><p>“I tell you what I know, you tell me what you know. The servants trust you. The nobles…” she trailed off. “Well, they don’t trust me, but at least I’m in the house.”</p><p>“Suppose that’s true,” Sera said. “Could be useful.”</p><p>Tanith nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly,” she said. “So, do we have a deal?”</p><p>“How do I know you won’t rat me out?”</p><p>“How do I know you won’t rat <em> me </em> out?” Tanith asked. “The Duke doesn’t exactly know I’m here to spy on him. If he finds out it’s all the Wardens fucked, not just me. If anything you’ve got the advantage here.”</p><p>Sera folded her arms across her chest, her lip curling. “Fine,” she said. “But you screw me over and you’ll pay, yeah?”</p><p>“I do not doubt it.”</p><p>“Frigging darkspawn,” Sera said. “Saw them once. In Denerim. All teeth and dead eyes.” She shivered. “Hope you get rid of them while you’re here.”</p><p>“Me too,” Tanith said. “So, do we have a deal?” She held out her left hand, then drew it back again when she realised it was still glowing.</p><p>“Fine. Just keep up your end, alright?”</p><p>“I’ll do my best. You’re in the old shepherd’s hut if I need to find you, right?”</p><p>For the first time during their encounter, Sera looked genuinely taken aback. “Yeah. How did you know that?”</p><p>Tanith winked at her. “Grey Warden secrets,” she said. “I’ll see you around.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Alike In Sorrow, Sculptor And Clay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rest of the Wardens had been up for half an hour by the time Tanith joined them at the breakfast table. Through a concerted effort of willpower, Blackwall resisted the urge to comment on her tardiness. She pulled up a chair next to Nataly, helped herself to a handful of grapes from the fruit bowl, then leaned back and chewed contemplatively for a moment.</p><p>“Found something out last night,” she said. “Might be important.”</p><p>“Oh yeah?” Nataly turned to face her.</p><p>Tanith nodded, then glanced sideways at Clement and Sofie. “Apparently your father’s not paid his servants for months. Or not paid them in full, anyway.”</p><p>“What?” Sofie frowned. “I know he reduced our staff, but that’s… well, I suppose it is believable actually.” She blew out a long sigh. “Maker, why didn’t any of them speak to me?”</p><p><em> Because you’re just as noble as he is</em>, Blackwall thought. <em> They might like you well enough, but they won’t trust you. </em></p><p>“Do you think it has something to do with the darkspawn?” Hywel asked Tanith.</p><p>She shrugged. “I don’t know. The only thing connecting them is the Duke. Not to say there isn’t a link, but if there is I haven’t got a clue what it is.”</p><p>“Every time I think father couldn’t be a bigger bastard,” Clement said, his elbows resting despondently on the table.</p><p>“Hang on a moment,” Blackwall said, turning his attention to Tanith. “How do you know this, anyway?”</p><p>There was acid in her eyes as she looked at him. “I have a contact.”</p><p>“What do you mean, ‘a contact’?”</p><p>“A contact is a person who wants to speak to you,” Tanith said. “I can see why you might not be familiar with the concept.”</p><p>Nataly held a hand out to silence Blackwall before he could respond.</p><p>“Either way,” she said. “It’s worrying, right? The servants keep a place like this running. You wouldn’t just stop paying them unless there was something wrong.”</p><p>“Da’len, did your contact say any more?” Hywel asked. “Do they know anything about the fissure?”</p><p>“Only that there’s some who work here with family who live in the village. Apparently they’re terrified of the darkspawn.”</p><p>Sofie went very pale. “That close?” she breathed. “What does father think he’s doing?”</p><p>“Whatever it is, it’s not good,” Nataly said. “The darkspawn don’t just go away once a fissure opens. They’ll keep coming until it’s bigger, opening it out every time they come to the surface. This has to be dealt with soon.”</p><p>“I don’t see why we can’t just confront the Duke directly,” Blackwall said. “Cut out all of this skulking around.”</p><p>Tanith rolled her eyes.</p><p>“We’ve got nothing solid to accuse him of yet,” Hywel pointed out. “What’s to stop him throwing us right back out again?”</p><p>Sofie nodded in agreement. “Don’t underestimate father’s capacity for denial,” she said. “He’d be quicker to show you the door than he would be to talk.”</p><p>“Look, can we just go down to the tourney?” Nataly said. “We’re not getting anywhere here.”</p><p>“Screw the tourney,” Tanith said, tossing another grape into her mouth. “Man gets hit with stick. Man falls off horse. Repeat. What’s the point?”</p><p>“You’re more than welcome to stay here.”</p><p>Blackwall had spoken under his breath, but Tanith glared at him regardless. The tips of her ears were pointed low, her mouth a bloodless line.</p><p>“If you have something to say to me, then say it.”</p><p>He returned her look. “I’ve got nothing to say to you, Tanith.”</p><p>“Mythal’enaste, can we please get back to the matter at hand?” Hywel asked.</p><p>“I thought we were dropping that,” Nataly said.</p><p>Sofie raised her arm. “I just think that we—”</p><p>Within half a minute everyone at the table was talking over one another. There were a handful of different conversations taking place at once, some amicable, some far less so, and Blackwall could hardly hear himself think over the racket. Hywel was gesturing irritably, Nataly was tapping an impatient finger on the table, and Tanith seemed to be under the impression that if she simply talked louder than everyone else then she would somehow win the discussion. The frustration that had been simmering among the Wardens since their arrival at Chateau Lavigne seemed in danger of boiling over, the first drops falling to sizzle into steam.</p><p>The loud <em> crack </em> of a flat hand against wood shocked everyone to sudden silence. Blackwall turned to see Clement standing at the head of the table, his usually sanguine expression twisted into a scowl.</p><p>“That’s enough!” he said. “I’m sick of this. I’m sick of hearing about father, I’m sick of listening to people argue, I’m twice-sick of the <em> fucking </em> tourney.”</p><p>His companions did little but blink at him. Clement was easily the most agreeable of their number, and to see him so distressed was a rare thing. Blackwall couldn’t help but be chastened by it, and from the other Wardens’ faces it seemed they felt the same.</p><p>Clement let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I just— I truly hate it here.”</p><p>“Silly goose.” Sofie laid her hand over his. “You should have said something.”</p><p>“Well we’ve got things to do, haven’t we?” he said. “I know we’re busy, but Maker. Would one day away from all <em> this </em> be too much to ask for?”</p><p>“I don’t think so,” Hywel said. He turned to look at the others, his eyes dangerous. “What do you think?”</p><p>Everyone else murmured in assent, and Hywel nodded back at them.</p><p>“See?” he said. “I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t take a day off.”</p><p>Blackwall could think of a hundred reasons, but also knew that this was not the time to raise them. Besides, he knew what bad morale could do to a group like this. If they didn’t take a moment to decompress they would be tearing each other to shreds by the end of the first tilt.</p><p>“I’ve an idea,” Sofie said, her face lighting up as she turned to Clement. “Why don’t we go to the lake? I’ll have cook put us a basket together, like when we were children. Doesn’t that sound just the thing?”</p><p>“It does, rather,” he said, the smile returning to his face. “I’ve not been there for years.”</p><p>“That’s decided then.” Sofie got to her feet, hands resting firmly on her hips. “I’ll see what I can rustle up. Meet you outside in half an hour.”</p><p>The western bank of Lake Celestine was a mile’s walk from the chateau. As they left the estate Blackwall heard a distant roar from the tourney ground, the sound carrying easily through the still air. It seemed as though autumn had arrived in earnest during their scant few days at the house, the leaves on the trees now a riot of yellow, ochre, bronze. Clement and Sofie were in high spirits as they led the party onwards, walking with arms linked and swapping memories of their shared childhood.</p><p>For all he knew that a day of rest would improve everyone’s mood, Blackwall still could not entirely shake the feeling that it was a bad idea. He had even tried to suggest that he stay behind and continue looking for recruits, but one sharp look from Hywel had silenced him. Blackwall was conscious of their limited time at Chateau Lavigne, of how little progress he and Nataly had made with conscription, of the paltry amount of information they had managed to glean regarding both the Duke and the darkspawn. He knew better than to give voice to these concerns, however.</p><p>Lake Celestine was the largest of its kind in Orlais, stretching from Val Firmin in the south all the way to the Heartlands. Standing on the loose sand of the western shore, Blackwall could not make out the opposite bank. The still water stretched out to the distant horizon, the glare of the sun off its surface nearly blinding. It was quiet here, a stand of silver birch trees giving the small beach some modicum of privacy, the warbling cries of the curlews echoing through the air.</p><p>Clement and Sofie quickly got to work, spreading blankets on the shore and unpacking food from the basket. They laid out soft herb-flecked cheeses wrapped in muslin, delicate little tarts jewelled with almonds and apricots, slices of rolled pork stuffed with chestnuts and sage. Even when they were roughing it, they still ate like Orlesians.</p><p>The Wardens and Sofie passed a pleasant hour on the shore, grazing on the food and making light conversation. They kept the topics innocuous, avoiding any talk of the Duke or the tourney or the darkspawn. Clement and Sofie spoke the most, reminiscing about trips to this spot they had taken as children, learning to swim, their nannies of varying temperament. When he was at Fort Astor Clement spoke little of his upbringing, to the point where it was sometimes easy to forget that he came from such aristocratic stock. He carried himself more like a soldier than a lord, and he lacked the profound sense of entitlement that was second nature to the nobility. Still, he had come from money once, and the easy way he spoke of butlers and salons only went to prove it.</p><p>After a while they all drifted off in separate directions, each having their own intentions for how they wished to spend their free afternoon. Clement and Sofie went directly to the lake to swim, convincing Hywel to join them. Nataly retreated to a spot near the birch trees, going through the slow series of stretches that Blackwall had seen her perform in the training yard at Fort Astor. It was a dwarven training regime of some sort, the secrets of which Nataly kept jealously guarded.</p><p>Tanith sat alone on the shore. She had pulled off her boots and rolled up the sleeves of her shirt, her expression pensive as she curled her toes in the wet sand. In their months travelling together Blackwall had learned to read Tanith’s mood from her posture. There was frustration in the straight line of her back, the angles of her wrists sharp with irritation. He wondered whether this particular temper was directed at him, her investigation’s lack of progress, or with something else entirely.</p><p>Seeing her looking out across the water couldn’t help but remind him of another day, another place. When they had docked at Val Chevin three months ago Tanith had still been shaky from the sea crossing, and they had elected to camp near the cliffs rather than walk the last few miles back to Fort Astor. There had been another motivation in that, Blackwall suspected, though it was not mentioned or discussed. They both knew that this would likely be their last night together, that when they returned to the keep their recent intimacy would come to a sudden, unwelcome end. It was still new, raw and fragile as spring grass, and Blackwall, for his part, had wanted to hold onto it just a little longer.</p><p>The following morning he woke alone, the fire burned to nothing in its pit. He had found Tanith sitting near the cliff path, her knees tucked up against her chest as she watched the waves break into spray. For a long moment he had just looked at her, a low ache burrowing deep between his ribs. Then he had gone to sit beside her, lifting her hair to kiss the nape of her neck as she leaned heavily against his shoulder.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>Tanith’s voice snapped Blackwall sharply from his reverie. He had been staring, he realised, and now she was glowering back at him. Hard to believe that this was the same woman who had once touched him so gently.</p><p>“Nothing,” he said.</p><p>She continued frowning at him for a while, then got to her feet and stalked over to where he was sitting. Stepping unceremoniously over his legs, she retrieved a bottle from Sofie’s basket and brought it back over to his spot on the shore. Tanith sat down, uncorked the bottle with her teeth, then took three long swallows before holding it out to him.</p><p>“Drink,” she said.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Tanith sighed. “Because we have to be nice to each other,” she said. “Today. For Clem. Might as well ease it along a little.”</p><p>Blackwall couldn’t argue with that. He took the bottle and swigged from it dubiously, uncertain of its contents. Some Orlesian liquor, sweet and faintly floral. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he sank the bottle into the wet sand so it wouldn’t topple over.</p><p>Tanith looked out to the lake, where Sofie’s bright laugh carried across the water as she floated near Hywel and her brother.</p><p>“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Tanith said quietly.</p><p>“What is?”</p><p>“Clem and Sofie just growing up like this,” she said. “Trips to the lake. Nannies. Half a hundred bedrooms to choose from when they got home.”</p><p>Blackwall didn’t respond. Tanith’s lips were still parted, a sure indicator that she had not finished giving voice to her thoughts.</p><p>“Nataly comes from money,” she continued after a moment. “Hywel… well, I don’t know much about the Dalish. But they’re not…” A helpless gesture with her hand. “Not like us.”</p><p>That was unexpected. “‘Like us’?”</p><p>“You know what I mean.” Tanith looked up at him, and for the first time in two days there was no anger in her eyes. “They’ve never had nothing, have they?”</p><p>“Ah.” Blackwall nodded slowly. “No, they haven’t.”</p><p>“It hit me this morning,” she said. “Woke up in this feather bed, knew there would be some fancy breakfast waiting for me when I left my room. I took it for granted for a second. Felt sick with myself.”</p><p>“I know what you mean,” he said. “Feels obscene, sometimes. Being here.”</p><p>Tanith grimaced. “Yeah,” she said. “But all those people up at the estate, this is just <em> normal </em> for them. That’s what I can’t get my head around.”</p><p>“Would you want to be like them?” he asked. “One of those milk-fed nobles with more money than sense?”</p><p>“No,” she said. “But I’m not about to say I’m grateful for what I did have either.”</p><p>Her voice was edged with bitterness. Blackwall had known what it was to be poor, on many occasions, but not like Tanith had. She had told him of the years after her father died, when she had lived on scraps in the back alleys of Montfort’s alienage. Being here, surrounded by such wealth, was likely to be a stark reminder of that.</p><p>Tanith lifted the bottle to her lips again. “Oh well,” she said. “Always someone who has it worse.”</p><p>“That doesn’t make it alright.”</p><p>“No,” she said. “But it’s a pretty lie to tell yourself, isn’t it?”</p><p>The afternoon wore on, fading slowly to evening. Tanith and Blackwall did not speak much more to one another, but the few words they did exchange were not cruel. Eventually the others returned, giddy with the sun and the simple pleasures of wine and water. The bottle was passed around, and by the time they made their way back up to the estate everyone was in good humour.</p><p>From a distance Chateau Lavigne looked like something out of a children’s tale, a palace wound with ivy and bathed in lamplight. They walked slowly up the long path, laughing at nothing, wringing the last drops out of the day. Tanith and Blackwall had fallen a few paces behind the others, the silence between them companionable for once. When they were halfway to the entrance Blackwall felt Tanith hook her smallest finger around his for a moment, the touch so brief and light that he might have imagined it.</p><p>The guards nodded a greeting to their party as they walked through the doors of the chateau, not commenting on their late return. The entrance hall was full of people, the remnants of whatever soiree had been taking place that evening, and several nobles looked askance at the Wardens as they passed. Blackwall imagined that their mismatched group must cause offence to the court’s aesthetic sensibilities. Good.</p><p>They had almost made it out of the chamber when a commotion caught their attention. Someone was shouting, and Blackwall turned around to see a tall man forcing his way through the crowd, his face like thunder. He wore no armour, but the lion-sigil clasp that held his cloak and the yellow plume in his mask marked him as a chevalier. Blackwall recognised him as the rider who had unseated Adrien Desmarais on the first day of the tourney. With this recollection came that uneasy feeling again, that certainty that he was forgetting something important.</p><p>“You!” The chevalier snarled the word, pointing straight at the Wardens.</p><p>Blackwall followed the path of his finger, and found Tanith staring blankly at the man.</p><p>“Can I help you?” she asked.</p><p>The chevalier was breathing hard, his teeth bared. “I heard rumours you were here,” he said. “Do you know who I am?”</p><p>Tanith seemed entirely nonplussed. “Afraid not.”</p><p>“I am Marcel de Chambrun,” he said, curling his hand into a fist.</p><p>“Not ringing any bells,” she shrugged. “Sorry.”</p><p>For a moment Blackwall thought the chevalier might actually hit her. He tensed, ready to step forward, but the man let his hand drop back down to his side.</p><p>“My brother was Henri de Chambrun,” he said. “<em>Ser </em> Henri de Chambrun. The man you <em> murdered</em>. You tore his throat out like an animal, and no justice was done!”</p><p>Blackwall felt his blood run cold. Of course. He had been a fool not to see it sooner, not to remember the name <em> de Chambrun </em> when it was announced in the lists. The last time he had heard that name spoken was on the gallows at Montfort, on the day he had conscripted Tanith into the Wardens. It was the name of the chevalier she had killed, a crime that had almost seen her executed.</p><p>Tanith herself had gone very still, though she did not lose her composure. “I see,” she said.</p><p>“You will pay for what you have done,” de Chambrun said. He tore the silk glove from his hand and threw it on the floor in front of her, earning a chorus of shocked gasps from the crowd of onlookers. “I demand satisfaction!”</p><p>Tanith glanced down, blinked once, then looked back up at him. “You dropped your glove.”</p><p>Clement stepped forward quickly, placing his hand on Tanith’s shoulder. “It’s a challenge,” he said, the slightest quaver in his voice. “He’s requesting a duel, for his brother’s honour. To the death.”</p><p>“Oh.” Tanith turned back to the chevalier. “No thanks.”</p><p>As she moved to walk away Blackwall let out a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding. De Chambrun could bark like a dog all he wanted, but while Tanith was under the Wardens’ protection he could not touch her. Not even Duke Maxim, as much as he hated the order, would allow a Warden’s blood to be spilled in his halls. Blackwall turned to follow Tanith out of the room, his heart still pounding in his chest.</p><p>“Knife-ear whore!” de Chambrun spat. “Henri should have slit your worthless throat!”</p><p>Tanith stiffened mid-step, her toe pausing an inch from the mosaic tiles of the floor. There was cold fury in every line of her body as she turned, her eyes dark and dangerous.</p><p>“He wanted to.” Her voice was very quiet. “I just got there first.”</p><p>“Rabbit bitch.” The chevalier’s shoulders heaved as he spoke. “You would not speak so if we were alone. Are you a coward, as well as a murderer?”</p><p>Blackwall saw the way Tanith’s expression darkened, his gut twisting as he realised what she was about to do.</p><p>“Fine,” she said. Her hand was suddenly wreathed in fire, the flames licking up to her wrist. “I’ll prune another branch from your family tree, if you insist. Do you want to do this now?”</p><p>De Chambrun froze. Clearly he hadn’t heard that part of the story. His hesitation was fleeting, however, and soon his eyes were furious once more.</p><p>“Tomorrow,” he said. “Before the first tilt. I <em> will </em> see justice done.” Then he turned and walked away, the crowd breaking out into excited whispers as he passed.</p><p>“Maker,” Sofie said, clutching her chest. “Did that just happen?”</p><p>“Looks like it.” Tanith’s shrug was nonchalant, though her hands trembled a little as she lifted them. “Are we going back or what?”</p><p>“Do you know what you just agreed to?” Clement asked. All the colour had drained from his face. “Tanith, it’s a duel to the <em> death</em>.”</p><p>“I know that,” she said. “You just told me. I’m not stupid.”</p><p>“You fucking are.” The words had torn themselves from Blackwall’s throat before he could stop them. He found that he was shaking, his hands clenched at his sides.</p><p>Tanith gave him an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”</p><p>“What were you <em> thinking</em>?” he snapped. “You’re going to duel <em> him</em>? He’s a chevalier, Tanith!”</p><p>“And?” she said. “His brother was a chevalier. I killed him.”</p><p>“That was an <em> accident</em>.”</p><p>“Says who?” Tanith took a step towards him, her eyes flashing. “You weren’t there.”</p><p>Blackwall swallowed hard, trying vainly to keep his anger under control. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “You’re a Grey Warden. Did you even consider what this is going to look like? A member of the order duelling one of the Duke’s guests?”</p><p>A shadow passed across her face then. When she looked up at him there was true hate in her eyes. Not annoyance, not resentment. Hate. Blackwall knew his mistake immediately, knew that there was no taking back what he had just said, no matter how much he might wish to.</p><p>“Well,” Tanith said. “I can see what your priorities are. Good to know.”</p><p>She shook her head once. Then she turned her back to him, and walked away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yes, i did a beach episode. i've had a long day alright</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Fire Is Her Water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tanith sat on the fence surrounding the tourney ground, watching a handful of servants as they poured sand into the ring and brushed it smooth atop the packed earth. The sky was still pale overhead, and the grass had been wet with dew when she walked down from the chateau. She had risen early that morning, the rapid chatter of her thoughts leaving her unable to sleep. Her eyes felt gritty from lack of rest, her stomach hard and sour.</p><p>Her temper had gotten the better of her, she knew. She should have walked away from de Chambrun when she had the chance, not allowed him to provoke her into biting back. But there had been something in his voice, a familiar edge of derision, that bone-deep loathing she had heard so often back in Montfort. It had lit something in her like a touchpaper, and she had burned herself to nothing almost before she realised the weight of her decision.</p><p>Tanith held her staff between her knees and stroked the yellow feathers wedged deep into the wood. They were still perfectly intact, colour bright and barbs soft despite months of hard use. Whatever small charm Hywel had placed upon them during their first training session had held well. She had taken the feathers as a trophy, tearing the plume from the chevalier’s helmet as he lay lifeless before her. It was a reminder. A talisman.</p><p>There came the sound of footsteps, light on the grass outside the ring, and a moment later someone leaned up against the fence beside her. Tanith turned to see Bellegarde standing there, folded arms resting casually on the barrier. He looked different in the daylight. The pale scars across his hands were more obvious, as were the lines at the corners of his mouth. His mask was simpler than the one he had worn to dinner.</p><p>“You’re early,” Tanith said. “Hoping to find a good seat, were you?”</p><p>“Actually, I was hoping to find you.” His voice was soft and low, like the wind blowing through trees.</p><p>She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”</p><p>“Would you take a piece of advice?”</p><p>“I’ll listen to a piece of advice,” Tanith said. “Can’t promise I’ll take it.”</p><p>Bellegarde chuckled. “Very astute,” he said.</p><p>“So what is it then?”</p><p>He looked up at her, his eyes serious. “De Chambrun is nothing if not predictable,” he said. “Once you are close enough he will feint to throw you off balance. It is the first thing he does, every time he engages an opponent. Be mindful of it.”</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>Bellegarde stood up straighter. “Another thing,” he said. “He was badly injured, a few years ago. His left knee is weak. If you can take advantage of that it may slow him.”</p><p>“Why are you helping me?” Tanith asked, frowning. “Have you got a bet on me or something?”</p><p>“By all accounts, the odds on you are high,” he smiled. “But no. I trained with the de Chambruns, and have crossed paths with them since.” Bellegarde’s eyes went hard. “Both of them brutes. I was not sorry to hear of Henri’s passing. If you were victorious a second time, I would welcome it.”</p><p>Tanith considered this for a moment. It seemed strange to have one noble counselling her over the murder of another— but, she supposed, the aristocracy were always finding new and interesting ways to assassinate their rivals. Perhaps Bellegarde and de Chambrun had some other history, a debt or dispute, and Tanith was simply a convenient tool to dispatch him.</p><p>Either way, she appreciated the advice. Her nerves had been building steadily for the last several hours, and the fear was beginning to make her nauseous. While she had killed Henri de Chambrun before he had laid a finger on her, Tanith was still unsure as to what kind of magic had achieved this. It had been an instinctive thing, like pulling your hand away from a fire. Hywel was well on his way to training these instincts out of her, but she was yet to replace them with any particular skill. This was, she reflected, probably the worst time in her life for such a battle to take place.</p><p>“I feel that I may owe you an explanation,” Bellegarde said suddenly. “Your friend— I know him by Rainier, but I believe he uses another name now.”</p><p>“Blackwall,” Tanith said, her mood turning sour at the mention of him. “And he’s not my friend.”</p><p>“Either way, he is your comrade in the order,” Bellegarde continued. “Such things are not unimportant. I don’t suppose he told you why he feels so poorly towards me?”</p><p>“He feels poorly towards me as well,” she said. “I’m hardly going to hold it against you.”</p><p>Bellegarde nodded slowly. “Still,” he said. “I am concerned that it may have sown distrust in you. I would prefer to be transparent about that particular piece of history.”</p><p>“As you wish.” Tanith crossed her legs, shifting a little to face him. “What happened with you two?”</p><p>“You know about the incident with Lord Callier, yes?”</p><p>Tanith nodded. Blackwall had told her about his former crimes while they were travelling to Orzammar, what felt like years ago now.</p><p>“Rainier and I served together in Perendale,” Bellegarde said. “We were both of us captains in the Imperial army. Campaigned together for two, three years.” He made a slight motion with his shoulders, almost a shrug. “A commission opened up in the Fields of Ghislain. Commandant.” He fell quiet for a moment, looking out across the tourney ground.</p><p>“And?” Tanith prompted.</p><p>“Rainier was in line for the commission,” he said. “But I wanted it, so I took it for myself. It was simple enough to arrange. He was a Marcher, a commoner. I was neither.”</p><p>“So he hates you for taking his promotion? Is that it?”</p><p>“I suspect it is not entirely that,” Bellegarde sighed. “It was not long after I was assigned to Ghislain that the trouble with Lord Callier took place. If Rainier had taken the commission as planned, Chapuis would never have approached him. If I had not intervened his life would look very different now.”</p><p>Tanith chewed on this for a moment. “He did what he did,” she said. “You didn’t force him to. It’s hardly your fault.”</p><p>“I do not tell you this by way of justification,” Bellegarde said. “I simply wish to be honest, so that you might draw your own conclusions. I am not proud of my actions, you understand. Back then I was profoundly selfish.”</p><p>“You’re not any more?” Tanith allowed a small smile to creep across her lips.</p><p>Bellegarde echoed her expression. “That remains to be seen,” he said. “But I like to think not. Over the years I have learned that egotism is not a prerequisite for ambition.”</p><p>“Why are you telling me all this, anyway?” she asked. “You seem awfully keen for me to not think badly of you.”</p><p>“I am,” he said simply.</p><p>People were beginning to filter into the stands now, rushing to claim the front rows. Tanith had not expected so many of the common folk to be in attendance. She wondered how word of the duel had spread so quickly. Servants, most likely, those who lived off the estate, returning home and gossiping in the village. Perhaps their sympathies, at least, would be with her.</p><p>“I should leave you to prepare,” Bellegarde said. “Remember what I told you. And good luck.” He made a low bow, then moved to walk away.</p><p>“Hey,” she called after him. “Wait a second.”</p><p>Bellegarde turned, watching as Tanith rummaged in her pocket and drew out a single silver coin. She tossed it in his direction, and he caught it neatly.</p><p>“Put that down on me, would you?” she asked. “That way if I live I get to win twice.”</p><p>He laughed. “Certainly. Take care, Tanith.”</p><p>Once she was alone Tanith’s nerves returned with a vengeance. She caught herself tapping her foot restlessly against the fence, the back of her neck already damp with sweat despite the cool of the morning. During her fit of bravado the previous night it had never occurred to her that she might actually <em> lose </em>this duel. Now it seemed to be the most likely outcome. She had killed darkspawn before, but not many, and not alone. This had far more in common with her training bouts back at Fort Astor. The training bouts she had been consistently losing for months.</p><p>Within half an hour the stands were half-full, and when Tanith glanced up to the high seats she found them packed with masked nobles. This would be fine sport for them, she thought bitterly. Duke Maxim was in his usual seat at the front of the scaffold, the worked silver of his mask catching the light. Even from this distance Tanith could make out the hard lines of his profile, mouth unsmiling as he looked down at the arena below.</p><p>“Excuse me, Grey Warden.”</p><p>Tanith turned around to see the tourney announcer walking towards her. “Yes?”</p><p>“Are you ready to proceed?” he asked.</p><p>“As I’ll ever be,” she said, smiling weakly.</p><p>“Very well.” The announcer inclined his head. “Follow me.”</p><p>It was eerily quiet as he led her into the centre of the tourney ground. On every other day the crowd had been vocal, shouting and singing long before the first tilt began. Today they were silent, and there was something disturbing about the lack of sound. It was the hush of a tomb, a funeral. Tanith tilted her chin high as she walked forward, determined that she would betray no fear to her audience. Inside her gut was roiling, her heart fluttering in her chest like a caged bird.</p><p>The announcer gestured for her to stop at a point some thirty feet away from the middle of the arena. “You are aware of the conditions of the duel?” he asked.</p><p>“Seems simple enough,” Tanith said. “We fight until one of us is dead.”</p><p>“Or until one of you yields,” he added. “Very well. Lady’s favour to you, Grey Warden.”</p><p>He left her there, walking back towards the staging area. Tanith forced herself to breathe slowly, as Hywel had taught her, taking in air through her nose and blowing it slowly out of her lips. This did nothing to calm her, however. Instead she became acutely aware of her body, its clumsy limitations, all of the soft flesh that could so easily be cut. Instead she tried to concentrate on her magic, but it was like picking up dropped pennies with shaking hands and she could not find a firm hold on it. She grasped for what little she could, drawing the power into her body with each shaking breath.</p><p>When de Chambrun emerged from the staging area Tanith’s heart turned over. In his full chevalier plate he looked far more imposing than he had in his finery the night before. He was a foot taller than her, at least, his frame broad and solid. A longsword hung at his hip, and he carried a kite shield made from the same gleaming metal as his armour. The yellow feathers that decorated his helmet were a match to those at the end of her staff.</p><p>De Chambrun took his place on the opposite side of the ring, and Tanith could see the pure enmity in his eyes as he looked at her. This man did not simply want to kill her. He wanted to butcher her, to <em> feel </em> her die. Just as his brother had before him. Her muscles tensed as she stared back at him, her body preparing itself to fight, to flee, to keep itself safe at whatever cost.</p><p>“Ladies and gentleman,” the announcer called, his voice carrying through the stands. “Today’s proceedings begin with a duel. Ser Marcel de Chambrun, of the Imperial Guard—”</p><p>He paused for a moment. There was a smattering of applause, most of it from the high stands.</p><p>“—demands satisfaction from Tanith Lavellan, of the Grey Wardens.”</p><p>Her name was greeted with a single — but very loud — whistle, that she was certain had come from Nataly. This small act of solidarity returned a little of Tanith’s confidence, and she set her feet as the announcer retreated to the edge of the ring.</p><p>“May the Maker give strength to the arm of justice,” he called. “Begin.”</p><p>For the longest moment they didn’t move at all. They simply stood there, staring at each other, the hush of the crowd laying over the arena like a mantle. Tanith concentrated on the energy now flowing through her, the gentle hum of magic along her nerves. It was not as strong as she would have liked, nor as tangible, but it was something. She had torn the first de Chambrun’s throat out with less preparation than this.</p><p>Then he rushed her, a wordless cry tearing itself from him as he charged in Tanith’s direction. The sudden movement was enough to startle her, and another trickle of magic slipped through her fingers. She darted out of his path, channelling what remained of her power towards him. A bolt of light flew from the end of her staff, colliding with his breastplate in a great shower of sparks. The crowd gasped as one. Many of them would have never seen magic before, Tanith realised, in the small part of her mind not rigid with fear.</p><p>De Chambrun recovered quickly from the blow, and apart from a dark scorch mark on the metal of his armour seemed entirely unharmed. He turned towards her, approaching more slowly this time, his shield raised in preparation for Tanith’s next attack. She searched her mind for something more effective, something that might slow him down. Hywel had always encouraged her to <em> control the battlefield</em>, whatever that was supposed to mean. But those lessons were geared towards fighting groups of enemies, with warriors by your side to engage the front lines. Here there was only her, and the man who wanted her dead.</p><p>She drew a little magic into herself, and tried to send out a pulse of energy as she had done during her bout with Clem. It was a weak thing, just a shimmering in the air, and de Chambrun barely flinched as it washed over him. Instead he ran forward, turning his shoulders so that his shield became a battering ram. Tanith barely flung herself out of the way in time, landing indecorously in the sand and staggering back to her feet.</p><p>Panicking, she concentrated her efforts on attacking. Elegant tricks would not save her now. She had no skill in them, could not rely on their efficacy when her grip on her magic was this weak. Fingers tight around her staff, she thrust it in de Chambrun’s direction and threw everything had towards him. A ball of fire, a bolt of lightning, a shard of ice. Not a single one of them hit true. The chevalier moved like he was dancing, sidestepping one missile, deflecting the next two with his shield. If she had not been so horrified, the grace of it would have impressed her. This man was no common soldier. He was a well-oiled machine, one with death as its sole function.</p><p>Then, almost before she knew it, he was upon her. He raised his sword to strike, and Tanith was about to scramble backwards when she remembered Bellegarde’s words. <em> He will feint to throw you off balance. It is the first thing he does, every time he engages an opponent. </em> She ignored her instinct to dodge the blow, and instead sent out a wave of force centred around her feet. It shook the ground beneath them, sending de Chambrun reeling backwards.</p><p>For the first time since the duel had begun, Tanith felt in some degree of control. She took advantage of it, using the few seconds in which the chevalier recovered his footing to draw in more power. With Bellegarde’s other advice in mind, she slammed the bottom of her staff against the packed earth. A chunk of stone flew upwards with a loud <em> crack</em>, sending dust spilling into the air around it. Tanith gritted her teeth and punched forward, letting the energy flow with the motion of her arm, carrying through the projectile. She aimed for de Chambrun’s left knee and it found its mark, the fist-sized lump of rock hitting the joint in his armour with incredible velocity. He cried out, stumbled, then righted himself. Tanith saw the way he winced as he took another step towards her, his injured leg trembling just a little.</p><p>She could do this. Twice now she had slowed him, had used her talent to keep herself out of harm’s way. De Chambrun might be bigger than her, stronger, better armoured, but he only had a sword and shield. His options were limited. Hers were boundless.</p><p>The chevalier favoured his right leg as he pressed onwards, swinging his blade in wide arcs that left her moving ever backwards. Tanith fought to keep her footing as she retreated, sending bolt after bolt of light from the end of her staff, forcing him to abandon his attacks in favour of keeping his shield raised. He stabbed low and she jumped out of the way, throwing out an arc of lightning that caught and crackled across the shining metal of his armour. Still the crowd did not cheer, still they did not cry out. She and de Chambrun fought among this silence, the scrape of boots on sand and their low cries of exertion all that filled the air.</p><p>Tanith had managed to keep out of the chevalier’s reach so far, but her energy was failing her. She was quicker than he was, but he knew how to use the benefit of his stature. Already he had forced her too far backwards, not twenty feet from the fence around the edge of the ring. If she was trapped there it would be the end of her. She needed to do something, to turn the tide of the battle in her direction, to deal de Chambrun a blow from which he would not recover. But it was impossible to pull at the threads of magic while still keeping her focus on the chevalier’s blade, and while she was concentrating on the deadly arc of his sword she could not draw enough energy to properly retaliate. Trying to emulate Hywel’s perfect calm, she let her eyes fall closed, just for a moment.</p><p>It was a moment too long. Tanith felt de Chambrun’s blade bite into the flesh of her thigh, cutting deep, hitting bone. She did not cry out. The sound that escaped her throat was more like a gasp for air, as though she had been doused with freezing water. She felt sheer, numb shock rather than agony, though that followed soon after. The pain that blossomed out from the wound was wine-coloured in her mind, spreading through her body and leaving her dizzy.</p><p>She fell. The crowd took in a breath as one, a whisper that rippled through the stands. Tanith tried to get to her feet, but the world lurched around her and she fell again. Dimly she was aware that her staff was no longer in her hand. She reached for it, but all her fingers touched was sand. Her awareness of her magic faded as the pain overtook her, her head swimming, the back of her skull thumping where it had met the ground.</p><p>The sky turned dark overhead as de Chambrun’s form blocked the sun, a silhouette all in shadow. He stood over her, sword gripped tightly in his hand. Voices in the distance, raised, then quiet again. Tanith could smell the horses.</p><p>“A quick death is more than you deserve.” de Chambrun’s voice was steel gone to rust. “I should gut you. Split you open and leave you for the birds.”</p><p>Tanith dragged herself up to a sitting position, the effort of it leaving her panting. Wildly she clawed at the Veil, at that web of light that ran through all things, but it fell apart like cobwebs at her touch.</p><p>“Look at me,” he said. “I want my face to be the last thing you see.”</p><p>Tanith did as he asked. She looked at him, this man, this human, this noble, with his armour that gleamed like the sun. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin flushed and drenched with sweat. In a moment he would lift his blade, would pierce it through skin and bone and viscera, would watch as the life drained from her. Tanith looked at him, and he laughed.</p><p>It was the laugh that did it, in the end. This was pleasurable for him. He would enjoy putting her down, slaughtering her like an animal, would have enjoyed it even without a dead brother to avenge. Tanith remembered an alleyway, the smell of rancid fat, a low voice in the darkness. She remembered a thousand corners just like it, a thousand places she had hidden from men like him. She remembered being promised that she would never again be sport. All of this was supposed to be behind her. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, none of it was fair and it never had been and it never would be again.</p><p>No, she thought quietly. No more fear, no more hurting, not any more. She was the one who did the hurting now. She was the one who should be feared. Tanith stared at the man who would be her killer, and she matched her hate to his.</p><p>And then it was all around her. That great tapestry of power, of magic, no longer tenuous, no longer fleeting. The threads of it pulsed with the beating of her heart, near enough to touch, and she could have laughed with the joy of it. She realised then the mistake that she had been making all along. Hywel had been raised in stillness. It was as natural to him as breathing, and surrounded by that calm he found his power. But Tanith had not been raised in stillness. She had been raised in anger.</p><p>It coursed through her now, a white-hot fury as sharp as broken glass, burning like mercury in her veins. Magic was a maelstrom with her at its centre, the power the storm and she the eye, and for the first time in her life she understood. Tanith reached for the lines of power that surrounded her, found them strong and true. She gathered them to her, as many as she could manage, as close and warm as her own flesh.</p><p>All of this passed in the space of a drawn breath. Unaware of her revelation, de Chambrun lifted his sword a final time. Before he could strike Tanith raised her hand in his direction and sent her magic pouring forth, knowing that this time her efforts would not be in vain. She wrapped him in it, pulled invisible cords of energy around his arms, his legs, his throat. Her anger was entwined with her power, a single scarlet thread woven through silk.</p><p>De Chambrun froze where he stood. He jerked, once, body spasming as he tried to move against the ties that bound him. His eyes were wide and wild as he looked down at Tanith, her outstretched hand, the smile now curling across her lips. She pulled tighter and his arms snapped to his sides, his sword falling with a clatter as he dropped to his knees.</p><p>The crowd gasped in earnest when Tanith hauled herself to her feet. She swallowed back against the pain as she stood, though in truth it was now little more than a dull ache in the back of her mind. All else was fury, and magic, and the man who knelt before her.</p><p>In that moment Tanith knew that she could kill him just as she had his brother. One flick of her wrist and he would be spilling his blood in the dust, the life leaving him like smoke from a snuffed candle. But she knew too that her power was already fading, that incredible flash of energy slipping away as her body remembered its own injuries. De Chambrun stared up at her, still struggling vainly against his bonds. In a moment they would loosen, and he would be free once more.</p><p>Leaning on her right leg, Tanith bent down and picked up the chevalier’s sword. It felt incredibly heavy, though whether this was due to the weight of it or her own weakness she could not say. She lifted it in both hands, bringing the point to rest in the hollow of his throat.</p><p>“No.” His voice was small and tight. “No, please.”</p><p>“Beg,” she said quietly. “Beg me.”</p><p>The chevalier only hesitated for a second before speaking. “I beg you,” he said. “Please. Have mercy.”</p><p>Tanith looked at him for a long moment. A drop of blood had beaded where the tip of the blade met his flesh, already trickling down his neck. One sharp push and it would be done. That was  all.</p><p>She thought of the stands around them, the hundreds of people watching. Gossip spread fast in places like this. It wouldn’t take long for word to get out among the court, the news that Ser Marcel de Chambrun had begged an elf for his life. Tanith met his eyes again. “Your death would be a mercy,” she said. “Better you suffer a little longer.”</p><p>Tanith tossed the sword aside, her arms burning. Her magic had slipped away now, and de Chambrun remained on his knees only because he chose to. She leaned close to his ear, close enough to smell the fear-sweat on his skin, close enough to bite.</p><p>“<em>Mien’harel</em>,” she whispered. Then she wrapped one hand around the feathers on his helmet, and tore them free in one swift motion.</p><p>There were no cheers as Tanith left the tourney ground. The quality of the silence was different now, the shocked hush of a thousand tongues that could not form their words. She stopped to pick up her staff on her way out of the ring, leaning heavily against it as she walked towards the fence. The pain in her leg had returned with a vengeance, and she could already feel herself beginning to shiver. She would go into shock soon, she knew. Glancing around with hazy eyes, she spotted several shapes in blue and grey waiting for her in a nearby pavilion.</p><p>The moment she stepped inside she almost fell, and Clement had to dart forward to catch her. He helped her into a chair, his hands sure but trembling against her shoulders.</p><p>“Bloody hell, Tan,” he said, his voice a little strangled. “Bloody hell.”</p><p>“You can say that again.” Nataly shook her head. “Like to keep things interesting, don’t you Lavellan?”</p><p>Tanith blinked hard, gripping to the edges of the chair as the world came back into focus around her. The potent cocktail of magic and adrenaline had left her feeling almost drunk. It was an effort to form coherent thoughts, let alone speak them.</p><p>Then Hywel was beside her, surprising her when her put his hands to her face and planted a rough kiss on her forehead. “Clever girl,” he breathed. His eyes were bright, a little wild. “Clever, clever girl. I knew you had the talent for it, I <em>knew </em>it. We need to talk about what you did out there.”</p><p>“Later,” Tanith said. “Healing first.”</p><p>“Right. Of course.” He knelt down beside her and held his hands over the wound on her leg. There was a pale blue glow, and a moment later Tanith felt her flesh knitting itself back together.</p><p>As she waited for Hywel to finish his work her eyes landed on Blackwall. He was standing back from the others, staring at her with such fierce intensity that it took her breath for a moment. Tanith squinted at him, trying to puzzle out his expression. Anger, she thought, or something like it.</p><p>Blackwall opened his mouth as if to say something, closed it again, then walked away without a word.</p><p>“Congratulations, Tanith!” she called out after him. “Well done for not getting yourself killed!”</p><p>“Sit still, da’len,” Hywel said, his voice mild. “I’ll have to start over if you tear this open.”</p><p>Tanith slumped back in her seat, too exhausted to argue. She did not want to think about Blackwall, not now. If he wished to take issue with her actions that was up to him. For now she wanted to sit with her victory, to bask in it like sunlight. She had won, and not only that, some piece of her had unlocked itself in the process. That power she had thought dead and buried was at her fingertips, if only she could find it.</p><p>It was almost enough to make her forget him. Almost.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Perhaps There Is Only Abyss</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a tense group who came to table the following morning. After the duel the Wardens had scattered in different directions, not meeting for dinner as they usually would at the end of the day. Blackwall had not returned to the tourney until after noon, where he and Nataly had watched half of the joust before giving it up as a hopeless cause. Clement had been off with Sofie, and where Hywel and Tanith had gone no one could say.</p><p>When Blackwall walked into the sitting room for breakfast the other Wardens were already there, save for Tanith. He pulled up an empty chair beside Nataly, choosing to ignore the speculative look she gave him.</p><p>“You sleep alright?” she asked.</p><p>“Fine,” he lied, reaching for the basket of rolls in the centre of the table. In truth he had slept dreadfully, what little rest he had managed plagued with dreams of the horde. He had no desire to talk about this, however.</p><p>“Comtesse Delphine’s invited me to play Wicked Grace later,” Clement said, not sounding happy about it. “Do you think I should go? She’s a horrible gossip. Could let slip something that might be useful.”</p><p>“You may as well,” Blackwall said. “It’s not like anyone else is bothering to do the work.”</p><p>As if on cue, Tanith chose that moment to walk into the sitting room. She stalked slowly to the table, her expression haughty, and made a deliberate show of pulling out the chair furthest from where Blackwall was sitting. Hywel let out a low sigh as he poured himself more tea.</p><p>Seeing her woke Blackwall’s ire anew. He could not stop picturing her facing down de Chambrun in the tourney ring, the way she had prolonged the battle when she could have cut him down, the sheer idiocy of the risk she had taken. Tanith glared back at him openly, her dark eyes fixed on his as she cut into a pastry with far more aggression than the task warranted.</p><p>There was a moment of deeply uncomfortable silence, broken only by the sound of cutlery scraping against china. Then Nataly looked up and spoke.</p><p>“You know,” she said. “I was thinking—”</p><p>“Do you know what your problem is?” Tanith snapped, pointing towards Blackwall with her butter knife.</p><p>“No,” he said flatly. “But I’ve got a feeling I’m about to find out.”</p><p>“You’ve got all these little rules that you judge everyone by,” she said. “But you won’t <em> actually </em>tell anyone what they are.”</p><p>“What you’re describing there, Tanith, is common sense. Most people don’t need it explained to them.”</p><p>“Nataly, could you pass the butter?” Hywel said, his voice raised but affable.</p><p>“Of course.” She handed it across the table, the two of them exchanging a significant look in the process.</p><p>Tanith tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, scowling at Blackwall. “Just because you’re too craven to think creatively about a problem—”</p><p>“Oh, that’s what you’re calling it?” he said, a little too loudly. “It’s creativity, now? Getting in a fight to the death with one of the Imperial guard? Risking the order’s reputation?”</p><p>“Actually,” Clement said, lifting a finger. “Most of the court see refusing a duel as deeply shameful. As far as our reputation is concerned, this was probably for the best.”</p><p>Tanith gestured triumphantly in Clement’s direction. “Thank you,” she said. “See?”</p><p>“Be that as it may,” Blackwall said testily. “You keep going on about having a job to do, but so far I’ve seen no evidence that you’re actually <em> doing </em>it.”</p><p>“You’re aware that ‘I didn’t see it so it didn’t happen’ is usually a position taken by infants, aren’t you?” she said.</p><p>“Enlighten me then,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Tell me what grand schemes you’re engaged in.”</p><p>“It’s interesting that you’re suddenly so doubtful of my abilities,” Tanith said. “Considering that the last time we had something to investigate you were so incompetent that I had to do all of the work.”</p><p>Blackwall felt his cheeks burn at that accusation. Brutal as it was, she wasn’t actually wrong. “I’m starting to suspect it was beginner’s luck,” he said. “Perchet asked you to—”</p><p>“Oh Maker, are we really doing this again?” Tanith spread her arms in exasperation. “If you weren’t so obsessed with rules and orders and your fucking <em> reputation</em>—”</p><p>“You know it wouldn’t kill you to care more about those things—”</p><p>“I don’t remember you caring about any of them on the way back from Orzammar,” she hissed. “Or do the rules only apply when they benefit you?”</p><p>That stunned him to silence. Tanith’s lip was curled back, exposing sharp, white teeth, and there was a furious tension in her shoulders. This was the closest she had ever come to acknowledging what had happened between them publicly, and her eyes dared him to speak another word.</p><p>Hywel and Nataly had been watching this exchange intently from the moment it had started, lifting food to their lips without tearing their eyes away. Blackwall could have done without the audience. He tried to think of a response that would not provoke her further, but came up short.</p><p>Tanith got to her feet, the legs of her chair scraping loudly against the tiles. “I can’t believe I ever thought—” she bit the sentence off, shaking her head. “Forget it.”</p><p>Both sets of feathers in her staff trembled as she picked it up. Tanith stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her with such force that it rattled on its hinges. For a minute no one said anything. Then Blackwall turned to his companions, frowning.</p><p>“She—”</p><p>“Ah!” Nataly held out a hand to stop him. “No. We’re not doing that.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Because whatever you’re about to say about her could just as easily apply to you. I guarantee it.”</p><p>Blackwall resisted the urge to argue that point, though he hardly agreed with it. He was not the one putting their entire mission in jeopardy for the sake of his wounded temper. He was not the one mixing with people better avoided.</p><p>Clement sighed and leaned back in his chair, looking slightly put out. “It’s such a shame the two of you don’t get on,” he said.</p><p>Hywel gave him a sympathetic look, patting his arm.</p><p>“What?” Clement frowned. “It is!” He turned to Blackwall. “You’re very similar people.”</p><p>“We are not.”</p><p>The other Wardens burst out laughing at this, as though it was the funniest joke they had ever heard. Blackwall could not find the humour in it. Tanith was reckless, hot-tempered, more concerned with her own self interest than the good of the order. The two of them were nothing alike.</p><p>“Please,” Hywel said once he had recovered himself. “You’re stubborn as donkeys and proud as cats, and too much of both to admit it.”</p><p>“I don’t see it,” Blackwall said shortly. Maker, less than an hour into the day and it was already proving unbearable.</p><p>“Listen, I’ve a thought.” Hywel’s tone was placating. “You’re right about one thing. We’ve little enough to go on, and I’m not sure we’ll find much else here. Why don’t you and I take a walk down to the village, see whether we can find where the darkspawn are coming from?”</p><p>“That’s not a bad idea,” Nataly said. “Killing something might make you feel better, at least.”</p><p>“Very well,” Blackwall said. “That’s the first sensible suggestion I’ve heard in five days. Let’s go.”</p><p>They wasted no time in gearing up and leaving the estate. Blackwall was grateful for the opportunity to get out of Chateau Lavigne, with its preening nobles and garish displays of wealth. This was what they should have been doing since the beginning. It was the duty of Grey Wardens to kill darkspawn, not cosy up to the aristocracy.</p><p>Clement had given them vague directions to the nearest village, where the rumours of the darkspawn had first surfaced. It was about five miles to the north-east, along the shore of Lake Celestine. Hywel did not speak much as they walked, his eyes flickering around the landscape as it changed from farmland to forest to rolling hills. Blackwall himself was not unskilled when it came to navigating the countryside, but the elf had a knack for it that was almost uncanny. On the rare occasions they had been deployed together in the past Blackwall had noticed the way Hywel examined the world around him, reading signs in the growth of moss on a rock or a cluster of mushrooms beneath a rotting log. An ability developed during his Dalish upbringing, most likely.</p><p>They had been walking for perhaps an hour and a half when they spotted a farmhouse in the distance— or, more accurately, the remains of one. Only the blackened shell of the building remained, the charred timbers standing out of the earth like the bones of some vast creature. When they drew closer Blackwall could see where the grass outside was scorched. There fire had been recent then, maybe no more than a month or two ago.</p><p>“Do you think they did this?” Hywel asked, placing a hand on what remained of the doorframe.</p><p>“Possibly.” Blackwall looked at a nearby section of wall that was still standing, the deep gouges in the wood. “Probably.”</p><p>“We should keep moving.”</p><p>They followed a narrow dirt track leading away from the farmhouse, and half a mile later came across another cottage. This one was smaller than the first, little more than a round hut on the hillside. An elderly man was leaning against the dry stone wall that surrounded it, his back stooped.</p><p>“Good morning,” Hywel called as they approached.</p><p>“Mornin’,” the old man replied.</p><p>His voice was a little wary, and Blackwall could see why. He and Hywel made an odd pair, and out here the sight of any armed fighter was likely a rare thing.</p><p>“Sorry to trouble you,” Blackwall said when they got closer. “But have you heard any word of darkspawn in these parts?”</p><p>The man squinted at Blackwall’s armour, then sucked at his teeth. “Wardens,” he said. “Aye. Not just heard, neither. I seen ‘em.”</p><p>The Grey Wardens glanced at one another. If this man had truly seen the darkspawn, he was lucky to be alive. Not only that, this meant that they were likely close to the fissure.</p><p>“How long ago?” Hywel asked.</p><p>“Two month back,” the old man said. “They burned down the Bisset’s place. Saw them swarming down the hillside in the night.” He shuddered. “Like ants, they were.”</p><p>“We saw it on the way here,” Blackwall said grimly. “Do you remember which direction they came from?”</p><p>“I’ll do you one better’n that,” he said. “I’ll show you where they come from.”</p><p>Hywel raised his eyebrows. “You know where the darkspawn are breaking through?”</p><p>The old man barked out a laugh, mirthless and bitter. “Everyone round here knows,” he said. “Not that them up there’ll listen. They been coming out the tin mine, since the quake.”</p><p>“The quake?” Blackwall asked.</p><p>“Aye. One night the ground gets set to shaking like the Maker himself stepped down upon it. Few days later, they show up.” He pushed himself off the wall, rubbing at the small of his back. “Come with me. I’ll show you the way.”</p><p>The old man’s shuffling walk was maddeningly slow, but the Grey Wardens followed patiently as he led them down the hillside and up through a shallow valley. Their guide’s breath wheezed as he made his plodding way up the slope. The trees were sparse here, tough little things that clung to the rocky ground, and their leaves shone impossible colours in the morning sunlight.</p><p>“There,” the old man said as they crested the ridge. He pointed to a spot between two low hills with a gnarled finger. “The entrance is through there. I’ll not go no further.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Blackwall said, reaching out to shake his hand. “We’re grateful for the help.”</p><p>The man grunted. “Just get rid of the bastards,” he said. “That’s what you do, ain’t it? Kill these things.”</p><p>“We do our best,” Hywel said, lifting his hand to his opposite shoulder and bowing his head. “Safe travels.”</p><p>Once the old man had made his puffing way down the hill Blackwall and Hywel set off again, heading for the place their guide had indicated. Before they were halfway there Blackwall felt the telltale itching behind his eyes, the low humming at the back of his skull. He turned to Hywel and saw the other Warden’s face set in a grimace, undoubtedly feeling the same unpleasant sensation.</p><p>“Creators,” Hywel said. “I’d forgotten how vile this was.”</p><p>“How long has it been since you’ve fought them?”</p><p>“A good while. How many, do you think?”</p><p>“A dozen, perhaps,” Blackwall said. It was always hard to gauge exact numbers from the sense alone, but he was certain they should expect more than a few.</p><p>“I’d guess the same,” Hywel said. “When’s the last time you saw a dozen darkspawn together on the surface?”</p><p>“Never.”</p><p>“Something’s wrong here,” Hywel said, the tattoos on his forehead shifting as he furrowed his brow. “There shouldn’t be this many. Not all at once.”</p><p>“Do you think we should come back with reinforcements?”</p><p>Hywel laughed then, twirling his staff in one hand. “That won’t be necessary,” he said.</p><p>The Wardens had barely rounded the first hill when they saw the creatures. About a dozen of them, as Blackwall had anticipated, their leathery skin and jagged weapons incongruous against the bucolic landscape. He glanced around quickly, assessing their position; a handful clustered by a man-made aperture in the hillside, three archers up on the slope, a scattered few shambling around nearby.</p><p>“Hy—”</p><p>“Archers, yes, I know.” The elf rolled his eyes. “I have done this before.”</p><p>Their conversation drew the attention of the creatures, who hissed as they grabbed for their crude weapons. Before Blackwall even had time to draw his sword Hywel had sprung into action, sending a bright bolt of energy into the centre of the group on the hill. It hung in the air above them for a moment, then exploded into a vortex of lightning that whipped out to lash at the archers. Blackwall had not seen Hywel fight in earnest for a long time, and had forgotten how formidable his magic was.</p><p>He did not have time to stand and watch, however. Three tall hurlocks were rushing him already, fangs bared as they sprinted in his direction. Blackwall raised his shield and allowed the first creature to dash itself against it, then stabbed forward at the second. The blade hit true, puncturing armour and withered flesh, coming out dark with ichor when Blackwall kicked its body away. He finished dispatching the first two swiftly, but was knocked off balance when the third collided with him. He could smell its foul breath, its high screaming ringing in his ears as he fought free of its grip. The creature managed to parry his first blow, but was not so quick with the next. Blackwall cut cleanly through its neck, and it fell to the ground still gurgling.</p><p>He looked around for Hywel, found him standing on the hillside among the burned bodies of the archers. The cluster of darkspawn by the entrance to the mine had spotted him and were already tearing in his direction. As Blackwall ran to meet them he saw a missile the colour of shadow fly forth from Hywel’s staff. It collided with one of the creatures, sending it tumbling back down the slope.</p><p>Two of the darkspawn peeled off from the main group when they saw Blackwall, turning instead in his direction. They moved as if to flank him, one approaching from either side. He engaged the larger one first, keeping his shield high as he forced it to turn sideways. During this process the other creature, a genlock with a wickedly curved dagger, managed to land a hit on his chest. His armour turned the blade, though it may well have been a lethal strike were it several inches to the left. With some effort he managed to push one of the creatures back into the other, their uncoordinated limbs tangling as they fell. He cut them down easily after that, then glanced up to see how Hywel was faring.</p><p>The mage had taken another of them out as they ran up the slope, but the rest of the darkspawn were still approaching him. As Blackwall watched Hywel dropped low, pointing his staff out in front of him with all the grace of a fencer. Light blossomed from the crystal at the end of the weapon, spreading in a wide wave that hurt Blackwall’s eyes to look at. There came the sound of screaming and the smell of burning flesh, and when the light had faded there was not a creature left standing.</p><p>Once the last of the darkspawn were dead Blackwall’s awareness of them faded. This, at least, was reassuring. There were likely no more nearby. He walked over to meet Hywel, who was rolling out his shoulders as though he had just finished some gentle exercise.</p><p>“I almost wish there had been more of them,” Hywel said. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a fight I could sink my teeth into.”</p><p>Blackwall, remembering the Deep Roads, shivered. “Be careful what you wish for.”</p><p>They walked down the slope towards the mine, moving with caution despite the quiet of the hum. Once inside the tunnel Hywel kindled a small light at the end of his staff, illuminating the wooden supports holding up the rough-hewn walls. The passage cut a gradual curve into the hillside, and when they had been walking for several minutes Blackwall could no longer see daylight behind them.</p><p>There were several tunnels leading off from the main stretch. A quick investigation of these revealed chambers carved into the rock, seamed with ore and scattered with mining equipment.</p><p>“Looks like they just abandoned it,” Blackwall said, crouching down to brush a layer of dust off a mattock.</p><p>“Wouldn’t you?” Hywel asked. “If you were going about your business and suddenly you were surrounded by darkspawn?”</p><p>The further they moved into the mine, the more pronounced the hum became. It wasn’t the sudden, sharp awareness that came when the darkspawn were near, however. The sensation was too vague for that, the buzzing too diffuse. It reminded Blackwall of the Deep Roads, where he could feel the mass of the horde in the distance. Not a comforting thought.</p><p>Eventually the passage opened out a little further, becoming wide enough for two carts to pass abreast. There was the smell of damp and mildew in the air, and something rotten beneath it. A few minutes later they came upon a chamber which looked once to have been the heart of the mining operation. There were several larger pieces of equipment here, along with some upturned furniture and the remains of a firepit. A large doorway at the back of the room led deeper into the hillside.</p><p>“I’ll take a look,” Hywel said, nodding towards the passage. “You see what you can find down here.”</p><p>Blackwall nodded, and Hywel left a small magelight hanging in the centre of the chamber for him to work by before leaving. The darkspawn had torn the place to shreds on their way through, and almost everything in the room was in disarray. Whatever papers had been in the drawers of one splintered desk were now damaged too badly for reading, and Blackwall could find nothing else that seemed promising.</p><p>A moment later Hywel returned, his face noticeably pale. “So,” he said. “I think I’ve worked out where the darkspawn are coming from.”</p><p>Blackwall followed him back into the tunnel. The walls were rougher here, the ceiling cracked and sagging in places. There was something about the smell of the place, too; ashy and damp, like the embers of a fire doused by rain.</p><p>“Watch your step,” Hywel said, holding an arm out to slow Blackwall’s pace. “We’re almost there.”</p><p>They walked a little further along the passage, until suddenly it just… disappeared. The bare earth floor in front of them was simply there one moment and gone the next, replaced with an inky darkness. Hywel shuffled a little forward and to the left, indicating for Blackwall to do the same. As Blackwall’s eyes adjusted he realised what it was he was looking at. They were standing on the edge of a great chasm, dropping endlessly down into the earth. He felt his head swim violently, and he pressed his back to the wall behind him.</p><p>Hywel lifted his staff and let the light at the end of it grow brighter, illuminating the rest of the chamber they were standing in. The ceiling — if you could call it that — was high and concave, almost ragged in places. The walls curved around in a wide, circular arc, the opposite side so far away that the light barely reached it. Below was nothing. Only the darkness, only the chasm. Blackwall swallowed hard and retreated several steps backwards, unable to take his eyes off the pit.</p><p>“It’s worse than I thought,” Hywel said. “Creators, look at this place.”</p><p>“I’m looking at it,” Blackwall said. “Do you see the scorch marks on the walls? Does this look natural to you?”</p><p>Hywel shook his head. “I was just thinking the same,” he said. “It’s like something blew up in here.”</p><p>“There’s all manner of dangers in mines,” Blackwall said. “Poisonous gases, things like that. Maybe they hit something they shouldn’t have, it caught a spark?”</p><p>“Or someone blew it up on purpose,” Hywel said, giving voice to Blackwall’s own unpleasant suspicion. The tunnel leading into this place was too neat, the edges too clean. There were no bodies, no signs of a catastrophe. It was all too… precise.</p><p>“Well,” Blackwall said. “I suppose it was naive of me to think we’d come out of this with <em>fewer</em> questions.”</p><p>“Quite,” Hywel sighed. “We should get back. Tell the others.”</p><p>As they made their way through the main chamber Blackwall spotted something that he had missed on his first examination of the room. There was a small table in the corner that the darkspawn had not managed to tip over, tucked into an alcove. On top of it was a sieve, the kind used to separate metal out from earth. Several small nuggets of metal were still inside it.</p><p>On a hunch Blackwall picked one of them up, turning it in his fingers before lifting it to his mouth and biting down on it.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Hywel asked. “There’s food back at the chateau.”</p><p>“It’s not tin,” Blackwall said.</p><p>“Excuse me?”</p><p>“That old farmer said this was a tin mine. This isn’t tin.”</p><p>Hywel shrugged. “What is it then?”</p><p>“I think it’s silver.”</p><p>“Perhaps he made a mistake.”</p><p>“Perhaps,” Blackwall said. “Doesn’t it strike you as a little suspicious, though? Silver in a tin mine, and a hole blown right down to the Deep Roads?”</p><p>“It’s plenty strange enough,” Hywel said. “But I haven’t the faintest idea what any of it means. Any ideas?”</p><p>“No.” Blackwall sighed, pocketing the nugget of silver. “Not a single one.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. What One Man Gains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After she stormed out of the sitting room Tanith wandered aimlessly for a while, losing herself in the chateau’s endless corridors. She passed by a large ballroom, empty save for the servants polishing the tiles, a library full of bored nobles playing cards, several chambers that seemed to have no particular purpose at all. Eventually she found herself in the gardens, and made her way to the quiet spot where she and Hywel had trained on their second day at the estate.</p><p>She sat down in the grass and closed her eyes, focusing in on the anger still blazing through her. Now that she knew what she was looking for, her connection to the Veil was easier to find. It was not so strong as it had been when de Chambrun had stood above her, his eyes dark with malice, but it was there. Tanith burned her rage as though it were fuel, stoking it like bellows at a forge fire. With a little practice she began turning it inside her mind, shaping it to her will, wrapping it around the threads of power and drawing them into herself.</p><p>Over the following hours she attempted a few clever, subtle pieces of magic, the kind that Hywel often showed her but she had never been able to replicate; suspending a leaf in the air, freezing a blade of grass but leaving the ones around it untouched, stilling the breeze that blew through the gardens. Her success with this was mixed — such spells required a discipline she did not yet possess — but even this small accomplishment was a far leap from what she had managed at Fort Astor.</p><p>The previous day she and Hywel had found a quiet room and discussed her waking abilities for hours. She explained to him how she had found magic in her rage, her theory that this frame of mind would allow her to access her power in a way she had not before. He was open to this, excited by her performance in the duel and keen to explore the possibilities it presented. Hywel told her of the dwarven berserkers, the warlords of the Avvar, the Ash Warriors, all of whom had traditions of harnessing their anger in battle. There was a precedent, it seemed, though not among mages. This did not surprise either one of them. Given the widespread fear of possession among their kind, mages were generally not encouraged towards extremes of emotion. The prospect of becoming an abomination did not worry Tanith overmuch. She was plenty capable of generating rage without demonic intervention.</p><p>When she finally returned to the Freyan suite her anger had burned itself out, leaving her tired and more than a little hungry. She wanted to eat until she was sated then sleep the rest of the afternoon away, though she knew that this was unwise. As furious as Blackwall’s accusations had made her, she had to admit to some kernel of truth in them. Five days into their seven day stay and she had made small progress in her investigation. Perhaps she would try and ingratiate herself into society again that evening, attempt find someone with a loose tongue who might let slip an interesting tidbit or two.</p><p>Tanith arrived back at their rooms almost at the same time as Blackwall and Hywel. She and Blackwall stood on either side of the door for a moment, neither one making a move to open it, until Hywel sighed and pushed past them to let himself in. Tanith followed, no longer in the mood to argue. Clement and Nataly were already in the sitting room, and they waved a greeting as the other Wardens entered.</p><p>“Any luck?” Clement asked, pouring three glasses of some iced beverage from a pitcher on the table.</p><p>“I don’t know if you could call it ‘luck’,” Hywel said, sitting down next to him. “We found where the darkspawn are coming from.”</p><p>“Sounds pretty lucky to me,” Nataly said. “Where is it?”</p><p>Over the next half an hour Blackwall and Hywel told them of all they had uncovered that day, from the chasm in the mine to the discovery of the silver. Tanith listened intently, her blood running cold when Hywel described the pit leading down into the Deep Roads. After her experiences in Orzammar she had no desire to encounter the horde again so soon.</p><p>“What we don’t know is what any of it means,” Blackwall said. “Why the fissure was opened, whether it was an accident, who caused it if it wasn’t.”</p><p>“How does mining work up here?” Nataly asked, frowning. “Is it the Duke who owns the mine?”</p><p>“Not exactly.” Clement shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Anyone wishing to mine or quarry on Orlesian soil has to seek permission from the landowner. In return, they demand a portion of the profit. He doesn’t own it, exactly, but he has a stake in it.”</p><p>“And if the miners hit silver?” Blackwall asked. “What then?”</p><p>Clement shrugged. “They would be duty-bound to inform the landowner.”</p><p>“You think someone got greedy?” Tanith said. “Saw a bigger profit in it, dug too deep?”</p><p>"It's alright," Clement said. "You can say my father."</p><p>“Doesn’t sound unlikely,” Hywel said. “Humans are forever doing stupid things for money.” He paused, looking between Blackwall and Clement. “What? You are.”</p><p>“What I don’t understand is why you wouldn’t just close the fissure the minute you realised what was happening,” Nataly said. “There’s no profit in having darkspawn all over your lands, surely?”</p><p>“You’d have to see it for yourself to understand,” Hywel said. “This isn’t like anything we’ve encountered before. You couldn’t just nail a few planks over it and call it a day. Closing a chasm like this would be a vast undertaking.”</p><p>“Why not just fill it in?” Tanith said. “It’s under a hill, right? Bring it down. Problem solved.”</p><p>Blackwall gave her a withering look. “And if the entire thing caves in under the weight? You think Orlais could do with another Abyssal Reach?”</p><p>She slumped back in her seat, lacking the energy for a retort. Privately she was irritated that the first piece of tangible information regarding the darkspawn had been discovered by someone other than her, and the fact that Blackwall had been the one to uncover it made that irritation significantly worse. But it was a start, at least. It was something to build on.</p><p>A servant brought lunch to their rooms shortly afterwards, and Tanith ate quickly before leaving the suite. She left the estate through the front entrance and walked towards the tourney ground, listening to the sounds of thundering hooves and cheers in the middle distance. When she was sure no one was looking she slipped around the side of the stands, making her way behind the arena and down the hillside.</p><p>There was a thin plume of smoke drifting out of the chimney of the shepherd’s hut when Tanith reached it. She knocked twice on the door, hoping that the fire meant that its occupant was present.</p><p>Sera opened the door a moment later. In the daylight she looked smaller than she had during their first encounter, her frame more wiry. She wrinkled a nose spattered with freckles as she looked down at Tanith.</p><p>“Thought you’d changed your mind,” Sera said, stepping back to let her pass. “Where have you been, anyway? Apart from fighting chevaliers.”</p><p>“You heard about that?”</p><p>“Everyone and their dog’s heard about it,” she said. “Should’ve killed him though. All pricks, those ones. You got something for me?”</p><p>Tanith walked past her into the hut. It had obviously been abandoned for years, but Sera had made the place surprisingly cosy. There was a small fire burning in the hearth with a kettle steaming over it, and the dust and debris had been brushed away into a corner. Sheets of patterned cloth draped the remains of furniture, and there were several books and niknaks next to a bedroll on the floor.</p><p>“I don’t know what use this will be to you,” Tanith said. “But I know something about the darkspawn.”</p><p>She relayed the story to Sera as it had been told to her, trying to remember as much detail as she could. Sera listened more carefully than Tanith might have expected, and when the story was over she nodded slowly.</p><p>“Right,” she said. “Giant frigging darkspawn chasm. That’s just what we need.”</p><p>“Does any of that mean anything to you?” Tanith asked.</p><p>Sera shook her head. “Not really,” she said. “Found something out though. About the Duke.”</p><p>“Oh?” Tanith raised her eyebrows expectantly.</p><p>“Yeah.” The teapot had begun to whistle, and Sera walked over to move it away from the fire. “Did you know he’s broke?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“He’s broke,” Sera said. “Hasn’t got a pot to piss in.”</p><p>Tanith was incredulous. “How?” she asked. “Have you seen that place? There’s soup spoons in there worth more than I see in a year. He’s hosting a tourney, giving gold to the winners. He can’t be broke.”</p><p>Sera snorted. “You really don’t know shit about nobles, do you?” she asked. “Way they see it, only thing worse than <em> being </em> poor is <em> looking </em> poor. Heard from one of my Friends in Val Royeaux. Your man up there, he’s been borrowing from the Empress for years. But Her Imperial Moneybags won’t give him any more. <em> She </em> wants it all back, and <em> he’s </em>in big trouble.”</p><p>“Do you think that’s why he hasn’t been paying his servants?” Tanith said.</p><p>“No, I think he’s not been paying them because he’s an arsehole,” Sera said. “He’s still pissing away what he’s got left on fancy food and fancy jousting. Just cut out the bits he thinks aren’t important. The <em> people </em> he thinks aren’t important.”</p><p>“Isn’t that always the way,” Tanith said, her voice a little absent.</p><p>She was turning this new development over in her mind, fitting the pieces of it together. If Sera’s information was good, and the Duke really <em> was </em>penniless — though, thinking about the splendour of Chateau Lavigne, Tanith still couldn’t quite believe it — he would have been relieved to discover that a mine on his land had hit silver. Perhaps enough to dig deeper, further, more than was wise. And, if he didn’t think it a priority to pay his servants, why would he go to the expense of closing the fissure simply because it was a threat to the common folk?</p><p>“Penny for them,” Sera said. “Or have you just remembered you left all the candles burning?”</p><p>“Just thinking,” Tanith said, worrying at her lip with her teeth. “You’re <em> sure </em> about this?”</p><p>Sera looked a little offended at the implication. “Sure I’m sure. My Friend wouldn’t lie. Besides, I’ve been watching. Seen them loading bits and pieces up. Giant bloody vases and paintings that. All packed up and ready to be sent out, like they’re going to market.”</p><p>Tanith thought of the lack of artwork in the Freyan suite compared to the rest of the estate, Adrien Desmarais’ frequent, dour visits to the capital. It fit together too neatly to be coincidence.</p><p>“What are you going to do now?” she asked.</p><p>“Same as before,” Sera said. “Keep my eyes open. Cause some trouble. You got a plan or something?”</p><p>“Wish I did,” Tanith said. “Same as you, I guess. Not the causing trouble part.” She considered about this for a moment. “Well. Maybe a little trouble.”</p><p>Sera crouched down by the hearth and took the lid off a small china teapot that had been warming there. She filled it with water from the kettle, then looked back up at Tanith.</p><p>“Come find me if you hear anything, yeah?” she said. “I’ll do the same.”</p><p>“Alright,” Tanith said. “I’m in the—”</p><p>“I know.” Sera waved her hand dismissively. “Bye, then.”</p><p>As she made her way back up the hill to the chateau Tanith went over everything she knew half a hundred times. Her theory was passable, certainly, but she still had no evidence to support it. It wouldn’t be enough to go marching into the Duke’s office and accuse him of all this based on one nugget of silver and the testimony of… whatever Sera was. There was more work to be done.</p><p>She was walking down the long corridor to the Freyan suite, still absorbed in these thoughts, when the sound of her name made her stop and turn around. Bellegarde was walking towards her, moving as quickly as propriety would allow.</p><p>“I was hoping to run into you,” he said, drawing a small purse out of his pocket and holding it out to her. “Here.”</p><p>Tanith took it from him, feeling the weight of coins inside. “What’s this?”</p><p>“Your winnings,” he said. “You were twice-victorious after all.”</p><p>Hefting the purse in her hand, she laughed quietly. “I’d forgotten about that,” she said. “I was a little preoccupied that day.”</p><p>“I don’t doubt it.” Bellegarde smiled at her. “It was an impressive performance. De Chambrun rode out for the capital not an hour after you bested him, you know. I imagine he wished to make it back to Val Royeaux ahead of the gossip.”</p><p>A small tension that had been sitting in Tanith’s chest ever since the duel melted away. Part of her had been sure that de Chambrun would attempt his revenge once more, in a less public manner. Knowing that she was not about to run into him on the estate was a great relief.</p><p>“What are people saying about it?” Tanith asked, suddenly curious.</p><p>“A great many things,” Bellegarde said. “I was just on my way to the atrium, if you would care to join me. We can discuss all the small whispers of the court.”</p><p>“Sure,” Tanith said. “What’s an atrium?”</p><p>The atrium turned out to be a small garden in the very centre of the estate, its ceiling made entirely of glass to allow the sunlight through. Low beds full of lush flowers lined the narrow paths, filling the air with their cloying scent, and a small fountain burbled gently in the centre of the open space. It struck Tanith as a profoundly stupid room to have inside your house, when you already had a garden as large as some country hamlets.</p><p>They found a bench near a wall covered in climbing vines and sat down to talk, Tanith acutely aware of the lingering stares from the nobles who walked past them.</p><p>“They’ll be wondering what you’re doing with the likes of me."</p><p>“Let them wonder,” Bellegarde said easily, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankle. He moved with the martial grace of a swordsman, though he carried no weapon that Tanith could see. “Perhaps I will earn some interesting gossip of my own.”</p><p>“Tell me about mine then,” Tanith said. “What terrible stories are the nobility spreading about me?”</p><p>“Hmm.” Bellegarde’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “My personal favourite is that you placed a curse on de Chambrun, and that he will be forever haunted by demons.”</p><p>Tanith made her face serious. “Who says I didn’t?” She was silent for a beat, then laughed. “No, I didn’t. Maker, I wish.”</p><p>“What else?” Bellegarde drummed his fingers against his knee. “Some are claiming that de Chambrun threw the match deliberately, to claim on a debt. But most are simply speaking the truth.”</p><p>“Which is?”</p><p>“That de Chambrun was bested by a Grey Warden — an elven mage, no less — and that the Academie des Chevaliers will likely want little more to do with him.”</p><p>Tanith grinned. “Good,” she said. “It’s what he deserves.”</p><p>“It was a truly masterful stroke, letting him live,” Bellegarde said. “It takes a certain kind of ruthlessness to end a man’s life. To ruin it, however… that is something else entirely. You are a formidable woman, Tanith.”</p><p>“I have it on good authority that I am a reckless fool,” she said, folding her arms across her chest.</p><p>Bellegarde shook his head. “When the Grey Wardens arrived at Chateau Lavigne you were little more than a curiosity,” he said. “Now people are beginning take notice. Because of you.”</p><p>Tanith wasn’t entirely sure whether this was such a good thing. She was fairly certain that being noticed was not a desirable trait in a spy. Still, she might as well make the most of it, and if nothing else she seemed to be winning the confidence of this man. Sitting up a little straighter, she decided to take a risk.</p><p>“It seems a strange decision for Duke Maxim to host the tourney,” she said, keeping her tone casual. “Considering his financial situation.”</p><p>If Bellegarde was surprised by this revelation — either its content or her knowledge of it — his face did not show it. “Not so strange,” he said. “The Desmarais family have hosted this tourney every year for a century. To neglect it this year would draw… unwelcome talk. These old families live and die by their traditions. It is both their strength and their weakness.”</p><p>“You talk like you’re not one of them,” she said.</p><p>“I’m not, really,” he said. “My family have only held lands for a hundred years or so. That may sound like a long time, but there are lineages in Orlais that trace back beyond the Divine Age.”</p><p>“Only a hundred,” Tanith said. “Quite the young upstart.”</p><p>Bellegarde laughed softly. “Trust me, there are many at court who think so.”</p><p>The sound of a bell rang through the atrium, and a number of the nobles walking along the paths began making their way to the doors. Bellegarde too rose to his feet, the sun catching the bronze of his mask as he stood.</p><p>“I am afraid that is my cue,” he said. “Will the Grey Wardens be joining us at dinner tonight?”</p><p>“We will not.”</p><p>“A pity,” he said. “Will you allow me to walk you back to your rooms, at least?”</p><p>Tanith accepted, and the two of them spoke of small things as they made their way through the halls of the chateau. As they walked Tanith took close note of the servants hurrying from room to room, their eyes cast downwards as they carried linens and water and trays for the guests. How many of them had not seen a penny for their labours, Tanith wondered, and which ones were feeding information to Sera and her Friends? To many it might seem odd that they would continue to work unpaid, but not to Tanith. She had known a few elves in service back at the Montfort alienage. Many families knew no other work, were trained for it almost from birth. Finding other employment would be difficult, and a noble would not hire a servant who had left their position. Better to stay where you had a bed and a place at table than to take your chances elsewhere.</p><p>When they reached the Freyan suite Bellegarde bowed low to her. Unlike many other nobles, this gesture did not make him look foolish or pompous. It was gracious, fluid, like a dance step. Before he straightened up he took Tanith’s hand and lightly kissed the back of it, his lips as soft as his voice.</p><p>“Enjoy your winnings,” he said. “Until we meet again.”</p><p>Bellegarde walked off down the corridor, towards the dining room. Tanith turned back towards the suite, still a little disarmed by the kiss, but something made her glance over her shoulder before she opened the door. Blackwall was standing several feet behind her, his expression unreadable.</p><p>Tanith sighed, raking a hand through her hair. “Maker’s blood,” she said. “Get it over with, then.”</p><p>“Get what over with?” he asked.</p><p>“I don’t know,” she said. “Telling me what a fool I am. Taking issue with how I spend my time. Who I spend it with. The usual.”</p><p>“I don’t see the point, frankly. You wouldn’t listen if I did.”</p><p>“Hasn’t stopped you before,” she said. “I know what happened between the two of you, by the way. About him stealing your commission.”</p><p>Blackwall’s eyes widened in surprise, just for a moment. “How do you know about that?”</p><p>“Because he told me,” Tanith said, setting her jaw. “Some people aren’t afraid to be honest about their mistakes.”</p><p>“Look.” He took a step towards her. “The commission was a part of it, true. But that’s not the only reason I wouldn’t trust Bellegarde as far as I could throw him.”</p><p>“Well, <em> why </em> then?” she asked, that familiar irritation bubbling up in her throat. “What else happened?”</p><p>Blackwall made a helpless gesture. “It’s not a case of there being one specific thing,” he said. “I served with the man for years. You get a feel for people when you know them for that long.”</p><p>“Hold on,” Tanith said, holding her hand up between them. “You’re telling me that all of this has been because you have a <em> bad feeling </em> about Bellegarde?”</p><p>He closed his eyes for a moment before speaking. “It’s not as simple as that—”</p><p>“Oh I think it is,” she said. “I can’t believe you’ve spent this entire week telling me that <em> I’m </em> not doing my job right, when you’ve been in histrionics over a <em> hunch</em>—”</p><p>“Maker, woman, will you just <em> listen </em> for once in your life—”</p><p>“I will not!” Tanith said, loud enough that a passing servant jumped. “Why should I listen to you? What are you to me, anyway?”</p><p>Blackwall could not have looked more shocked if she had reached up and slapped him. There was something in his expression that made Tanith’s stomach go tight. She ignored it, focusing instead on her sparks of anger, the rapid beating of her heart.</p><p>“I’m so tired, Tan.” Blackwall’s voice was quiet. “I can’t keep doing this with you.”</p><p>He made to move past her, towards the suite door, but she grabbed his wrist before he could turn the handle.</p><p>“Don’t you dare walk away from me,” she said, surprising herself with the weight of feeling in the words. “Not this time. You can’t just run every time things get difficult.”</p><p>Blackwall looked at her for a long moment, his pale eyes fixed on hers. “Why not?” he said. “What am I to you, anyway?”</p><p>Pulling his wrist free from Tanith’s grip, he stepped past her and opened the door. She was still standing motionless in the corridor when it closed behind him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. When Hope Has Abandoned Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Blackwall was woken the following morning by a cacophony of sound. For a moment he thought himself still asleep, plagued by the discordant music of the horde, but after a few moments’ listening he realised this wasn’t the case. Instead he recognised the noise as a person playing the piano very badly on the other side of a wall.</p>
<p>The din went silent after a minute or so, and Blackwall closed his eyes in an attempt to fall back to sleep. He had no such luck, however, for a moment later it started up again, louder and more off-key than before. Cursing to himself, he got up and stormed over to the wall adjoining Tanith’s room.</p>
<p>“Keep it down!” he shouted, pounding his fist against the wallpaper.</p>
<p>There came a muffled response, the tone angry but the words indecipherable.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>Another furious noise, then Blackwall heard the sound of heavy footsteps walking across the floor. Recognising their direction, he made his way out to the balcony. Tanith emerged onto hers at the same time, her curls a wild tangle around her face, the tips of her ears pointing dangerously low.</p>
<p>“Will you give it a rest?” Blackwall said, gesturing to the rising sun. “It’s barely morning. I can’t think with that racket, let alone sleep.”</p>
<p>Tanith crossed her arms over her chest. “I’ll never learn if I don’t practice,” she said. “It’s art. I’m improving myself.”</p>
<p>“If you’re interested in improvement, I suggest taking a hammer to that piano. I promise that’ll improve things for everyone.”</p>
<p>“I thought you’d be pleased to see me up so early,” Tanith said. “Since you seem to think me so idle.”</p>
<p>“I’d rather you slept past noon if this is what happens when you’re awake.”</p>
<p>Several nobles taking an early-morning stroll in the gardens below had paused to watch this little display, looking up at the balconies as though the two of them were performing some kind of impromptu play.</p>
<p>Blackwall sighed. “If we’re going to have this discussion, could we at least have it in private?”</p>
<p>“Oh, you want privacy, do you?” Tanith raised her eyebrows. “Fine.” She put both hands on the balustrade and began hauling herself upwards, placing one bare foot on the marble.</p>
<p>“Tanith.” His voice held a warning. “What are you doing?”</p>
<p>“I’m coming over,” she said, “so we can talk in private. Move aside.”</p>
<p>“This is—”</p>
<p>“If you don’t step back you’ll be breaking my fall.” Tanith had pulled herself completely onto the balustrade now, and stood facing him with her hands on her hips. “Move aside!”</p>
<p>Reluctantly Blackwall did as he was asked, horribly aware of the singe-storey drop to the ground below. There were only a few feet separating the balconies, but Tanith was no athlete and the marble was slippery with the morning mist. He watched helplessly as she dropped into a crouch then launched herself forward, like a frog jumping off a lilypad.</p>
<p>She landed awkwardly on the balcony next to him, her ankle twisting beneath her on impact. Tanith recovered herself quickly, getting to her feet and wincing only slightly as she scowled at him.</p>
<p>“There,” she said. “Is this private enough for you?”</p>
<p>“Maker, are you <em> trying </em> to outdo yourself?” he asked. “There’s no reward for behaving like an idiot, Tanith.”</p>
<p>“Oh, <em> I’m </em> behaving like an idiot?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “I’m not the one who’s spent the last week sulking over who talked to who at dinner.”</p>
<p>“That’s rich, coming from the woman who nearly got herself killed settling a petty grudge.”</p>
<p>“‘Petty grudge’? His brother tried to <em> murder </em>me!”</p>
<p>“You could have left it alone,” Blackwall said. “You could have walked away. Taken the moral high ground.”</p>
<p>“Well, we all know how much you love the moral high ground,” Tanith said, her voice dripping with venom. “What’s the view like from up there, anyway? It must get terribly lonely, considering you’re so much better than everyone else.”</p>
<p>“It’s not about what’s better,” he said. “It’s about what’s right for the order.”</p>
<p>She scoffed at him. “Who made you the arbiter of what’s right for the order? You’re not the Warden-Constable. You’re not in charge.”</p>
<p>“I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have.”</p>
<p>“Doing what, exactly? Wandering around the countryside, begging guardsmen to let you have a few of their spare criminals?”</p>
<p>“Being a Warden,” he said, gritting his teeth.</p>
<p>Tanith’s ears twitched, and her brow creased a little as she spoke. “You once told me there was no right way to be a Warden,” she said quietly. “Do you remember that? Or have you forgotten everything that happened after Orzammar?”</p>
<p>Of course he remembered. It was one of the last things he had said to her before she had kissed him for the first time, before they had spent the night clinging to one another in that narrow bed in that border tavern. He had said those words to her, and she had trusted in the truth of them, and in that trust had pulled them closer. How could he forget, when there wasn’t a day went by when he didn’t think of it?</p>
<p>“I was talking about the work, Tanith,” he said. “Not about this. Not about taking pointless risks that put us all in danger, not to mention—”</p>
<p>“And if the work requires risks?” she said, her voice angry once more. “If taking them <em> helps </em> the Wardens? What then?”</p>
<p>“Then that would be different,” Blackwall said. “But I’m yet to see how this has helped anyone but you.”</p>
<p>“Well you wouldn’t, would you?” Tanith snapped. “When you’re only looking for what you want to see. You want to believe I’m a fool, you want to believe I’m incompetent, because you can’t <em> stand </em> the thought that I might be better at this than you are.”</p>
<p>“It’s not a matter of—”</p>
<p>“Oh, will you just <em> shut up</em>.” She grabbed the front of his shirt, her fingers twisting in the fabric. “Just <em> shut up</em>, Blackwall.”</p>
<p>He looked down at her. Tanith’s body was taut against his, her nails digging into his chest. There was defiance in her eyes, and outrage, and something else too, a challenge that played at the edges. Her collar was open, the freckled skin of her throat flushed. Blackwall knew in that moment that if he kissed her she would kiss him back, knew it with an absolute and perfect certainty. He knew that she would write her anger on him with her teeth, knew the way her flesh would burn beneath his hands, knew that their building tension would fray and fray until it finally snapped. But he knew as well that if they touched each other now, in anger, then it would be the last time they ever did so. It would poison something between them, and after that there would be no recovering it. Despite his endless frustration with her, despite the bitterness in her eyes when she looked at him now, he still could not give up that small shred of hope. Not yet.</p>
<p>“You should go, Tan,” he said, his voice rough in his throat.</p>
<p>She stared at him for a moment longer, hurt and indignation warring in her face. Then she let go of him, pushing him away as she walked back through the balcony doors. Blackwall watched her leave, remained standing there long after she had gone. He could not reconcile Tanith as she was now with the person she had been only a few months before, the one who had chosen to face her death in the Deep Roads rather than leave him. It seemed like every day she slipped a little bit further away, adding more bricks to the wall they had spent months carefully dismantling. While it was tempting to lay all the blame for this animosity at her feet, Blackwall knew that this was unfair. So often the words that came out of his mouth did not match the ones he was thinking, his need to do what he felt was right overruling his desire to do as he wished. To speak as he wished.</p>
<p>He was still ruminating on these matters when he and Nataly were sitting in the tourney stands some hours later, watching mounted knights charge along the lists. Blackwall had long given up trying to follow the thread of the competition, and all the heraldry was beginning to blend into one. It seemed impossible now that they would return to Fort Astor with a recruit in tow. All of the participants had unbreakable commitments already; to their houses, to the army, to the Empress. Not a one of them would leave these lives of security to risk death with the Wardens.</p>
<p>Nataly seemed to share his resignation, for an hour after the joust had begun she suggested that they go and get a drink instead of watching the next bout. There were several pavilions in the grounds where refreshments were sold and they left for the nearest of these, stepping past irritated spectators as they made their way down the stands.</p>
<p>After an interminably long wait Blackwall and Nataly managed to get their drinks, and took seats at one of the long benches. The tent was thick with the smell of spilled beer and sweat, the ground beneath their feet churned up from a week’s worth of footfall. Blackwall found something oddly comforting in the familiarity of it. It reminded him of his younger years in the Free Marches, when his life had been relatively simple for all of its hardships.</p>
<p>“I can’t wait to get out of here,” Nataly said, taking a long swallow from her tankard. “It was a laugh, at first, but I’m bored out of my skull now.”</p>
<p>“Tell me about it,” Blackwall replied. “We’ve got tomorrow night to get through yet.”</p>
<p>Nataly grimaced. “Don’t.”</p>
<p>The following evening the Duke was hosting a ball to celebrate the closing of the tourney, an event which Clement had apologetically informed the Wardens that they were obliged to attend. If Blackwall had disliked the opulence and pageantry of the court so far, he had no doubt in his mind that he would be exposed to it tenfold the next day.</p>
<p>“I don’t see why we can’t just leave once the final tilt is over,” Blackwall said. “If we’ve not made any progress by then, we never will.”</p>
<p>“At least you’re saved some indignities,” Nataly said. “Sofie was trying to hunt me down this morning. Wants to talk about <em> my outfit</em>.” She shuddered. “If anyone tries to stick me in a ballgown then we’ll really be in trouble.”</p>
<p>Blackwall chuckled. “I would have thought you’d be used to this kind of thing.”</p>
<p>“It’s different in Orzammar,” Nataly said. “Oh the nobility have parties, sure. We have feasts and Glory Provings and exhibitions all the time. But not this…” she waved a hand vaguely “...polite, simpering, ‘let’s pretend we all like each other’ way of doing politics. There’s backstabbing, sure, but it’s usually in the more literal sense.”</p>
<p>“At least it’s honest.”</p>
<p>“Hear hear.” She lifted her mug to his, then looked over his shoulder and frowned. “Hey. Isn’t that your best friend and the guy who won the melee?”</p>
<p>Blackwall turned around in his seat. Lagrange was sitting several tables over from them, wearing civilian clothes and nursing a drink. Out of his armour he looked like any other commoner here for a day’s entertainment, but Blackwall recognised his square jaw and restrained posture. Bellegarde was standing next to him, his well-tailored garments and polished mask making the two men look as different as it was possible to be.</p>
<p>They appeared to be arguing about something. Bellegarde leaned in close as they spoke, his shoulders stiff, and Lagrange made several obvious gestures of negation. Blackwall watched out of the corner of his eye, straining to hear their conversation but unable to make it out over the murmur of talk in the tent. After several minutes Lagrange sighed, visibly slumping in his seat, and nodded once. Bellegarde placed a hand on his shoulder before walking away.</p>
<p>“What do you think that was about?” Nataly asked quietly.</p>
<p>“No idea,” Blackwall said. “But neither of them looked happy about it.”</p>
<p>“I still think we should go and talk to him,” she said. “He doesn’t seem to be too pleased with his patron. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t love to steal Bellegarde’s protege from under his nose.”</p>
<p>That did, in fact, sound like a very appealing concept indeed. Blackwall thought of Bellegarde lifting Tanith’s hand to his lips, feeling his chest tighten with the memory. “I would. But he’d never go for it. Not when he’s only just sworn fealty.”</p>
<p>“Probably not, but I’m bored of sitting around doing nothing. We might as well try.”</p>
<p>“Suppose it couldn’t hurt.”</p>
<p>They got up and approached the table where Lagrange was sitting, alone now that Bellegarde had left. The warrior frowned into his tankard, his face still and pensive.</p>
<p>“It’s Lagrange, isn’t it?” Nataly asked.</p>
<p>The man looked up, frowning when he saw their armour, then nodded. “It is.”</p>
<p>“We watched you in the melee,” Blackwall said. “It was an impressive victory.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” Lagrange’s voice was slightly accented, speaking of a rural upbringing. “Can I help you, Grey Wardens?”</p>
<p>Nataly sat down on the bench beside him, and Blackwall did the same.</p>
<p>“We’re always looking for new recruits,” Nataly said. “Someone with your skill would do well in the order.”</p>
<p>“I’m sworn to Comte Mathieu,” Lagrange said, taking a sip of his ale. “I can’t leave his service.”</p>
<p>“Such oaths can be broken without penalty, if you join the Wardens,” Blackwall said. “We have treaties that guarantee it.”</p>
<p>“It’s a better life than you might think,” Nataly said. “We take all sorts. Everyone’s made welcome.”</p>
<p>“And you get to fight for one of the last truly noble causes left in the world,” Blackwall added. “It’s not like the army, with all its ranks and infighting. It’s a brotherhood.”</p>
<p>Lagrange hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I made a vow,” he said. “Whether or not I’m allowed to break it, it wouldn’t be honourable to do so. Comte Mathieu has done a great deal for me.”</p>
<p>This was interesting. Lagrange had excuses as to why he could not join the order, but none of them seemed to be that he didn’t <em> want </em> to. Ordinarily, if a potential recruit was opposed to the very idea of being a Grey Warden, they would simply say so.</p>
<p>“Is that what you fight for, then?” Blackwall asked. “Honour?”</p>
<p>Lagrange nodded slowly. “Isn’t that what all soldiers fight for?”</p>
<p>“It should be. That doesn’t mean it’s always the case.”</p>
<p>“You want honour?” Nataly said, smiling. “Try fighting an enemy that’s been plaguing Thedas for a thousand years. That’s the kind of thing people sing songs about.”</p>
<p>“My cousin married a Fereldan woman,” Lagrange said. “He saw the Blight first hand. I don’t doubt the righteousness of your cause, Grey Wardens. But I’m afraid I can’t join your order. Not now.” He looked down at the table, obviously wanting to bring the conversation to a close.</p>
<p>Blackwall wasn’t keen to give up so easily. There was something in the man’s tone, some sliver of doubt in his words, that suggested he could be swayed. “Is this the life you want for yourself?” Blackwall asked. “Fighting lordlings at tourneys?”</p>
<p>“I’m sure there’ll be other duties for me as the Comte’s champion,” Lagrange said, his eyes flickering between the Wardens. “Besides. There’s great prestige in a tourney victory.”</p>
<p>“There is,” Nataly said. “But you have to admit, it doesn’t really <em> achieve </em> anything, does it?”</p>
<p>“There is some truth in that,” Lagrange said quietly. “Forgive me, Wardens. I have to go.” He drained his tankard and left it on the table with a coin for the serving girl, then got up and left the pavilion.</p>
<p>“Damn,” Nataly sighed. “Thought we might have had him there.”</p>
<p>“He doesn’t seem happy, does he?” Blackwall said. “Wouldn’t you be happy if you’d just won your first melee?”</p>
<p>“He did seem a little… off,” she said. “Wonder what he and Bellegarde were arguing about?”</p>
<p>“Nothing good, I imagine.”</p>
<p>They remained in the tent a while longer, drinking and talking of trivial things, then went off in search of food. On their way back through the tourney ground they passed the stands, now packed with people for the afternoon’s competition. Blackwall caught sight of Tanith in the crowd, sitting with Clement and Hywel on one of the front benches. He watched her laugh at something Hywel said, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she tipped her head back. It had been a long time since he had seen that look on her face, that careless joy. The sunlight caught her dark curls, turning the edges of them golden.</p>
<p>“You need to get that sorted out,” Nataly said as they walked.</p>
<p>“What’s that?” he asked, tearing his eyes away with some difficultly.</p>
<p>“Whatever’s going on with you and Tanith,” she said. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, and I don’t particularly want to, but you can’t keep scrapping like dogs every time you see each other.”</p>
<p>“I’m not exactly delighted about it myself,” he said. “You want it to stop, ask her.”</p>
<p>“Blackwall, I’m serious.” Nataly looked up at him, her eyes hard. “You remember what happened with Syd and Darien. Margot won’t tolerate that kind of discontent. If she sees you fighting like this at Fort Astor one of you is getting reassigned, I guarantee it. Probably Tanith, since you’ve been around longer. Is that what you want?”</p>
<p>His heart sank at the thought of it. Blackwall remembered how wary and mistrustful Tanith had been when he had first recruited her, how she had been reluctant to come with him at all. But she had settled in the months since, had found friendship and safety and made a home for herself. He couldn’t be the cause of her losing her new life so soon after it had begun.</p>
<p>“No,” he said. “No, I don’t want that.”</p>
<p>“So fix it,” Nataly said, “and soon. This needs to be resolved by the time we get back to the keep. For all our sakes. It’s no fun to watch, you know.” She paused. “It was kind of fun to begin with, actually. But we’re getting sick of it now.”</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” Blackwall said. “I’ll try and talk to her. But honestly, it doesn’t seem to matter what I say any more. She’s determined to hate me regardless.”</p>
<p>Nataly ran an irritable hand over her shorn head. “Stone deliver me, you’re such a man,” she said. “Have you ever stopped to ask yourself <em> why </em> that is? It didn’t come out of nowhere, I promise you.”</p>
<p>Blackwall opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. He and Tanith had been at odds since their first night at the chateau, after their disagreement over Bellegarde, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t simply that alone. Things hadn’t been entirely comfortable between them after his return to Fort Astor, and despite his best efforts that had never truly resolved itself. But their separation had been a mutual decision, he was sure. Hadn’t it?</p>
<p>Frowning, he tried to recall the exact words they had spoken that night in the kitchens, and could not. All he could remember of that encounter was the heat of her breath against his neck, the way her hands had clawed at his shoulders as he held her. It began to dawn on him that perhaps their agreement had not been as clear as he had first thought.</p>
<p>“There we go,” Nataly said when she saw the expression on his face. “Don’t worry.” She patted his shoulder. “You’ll get there eventually.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>it's been a little while since i checked in, just want to say thanks as always for reading! come say hi at @elfthirst on twitter or @filthyknifeear on tumblr, i love chatting to readers</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. As The Moth Sees Light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Ow.” Tanith flinched as a pin dug into her ribs, not for the first time that evening.</p><p>“You have to keep still, madame,” Romilly said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Unless you want to go to the ball looking like a hedgehog.”</p><p>“I saw someone dressed as a hedgehog at a masquerade in Val Firmin once,” Sofie said, glancing up from her drawing table. “Rather wonderful piece, actually.”</p><p>The three of them were in a room which Sofie referred to as her ‘solar’. It was a large chamber with wide windows that looked out over Lake Celestine, full of trailing plants and instruments and easels holding half-finished paintings. This was where Sofie seemed to spend most of her time, pursuing her myriad interests with varying degrees of success. There were a few abandoned projects scattered here and there; a quilt with half of its squares missing, a dissembled carriage clock, a stack of books about Rivaini history.</p><p>Sofie had ambushed Tanith on her way back from the tourney, insisting that she needed an outfit for the following night’s festivities. Tanith, who had been hoping to wear the same Warden garb that had sufficed up until now, was not delighted by this prospect, but she saw no polite way to decline. So it was that she had ended up standing on a stool wrapped in pieces of fabric, Romilly pinning them in place while Sofie sketched out patterns at the table.</p><p>“It’s a shame we’re stuck with blue and grey,” Sofie sighed, tracing another smooth line with her pencil. “Green would be wonderful with your complexion. But consistency, you know.”</p><p>“If I still have to wear Warden colours why not just go in my armour?” Tanith asked. “Saves you the trouble.”</p><p>“Oh it’s no trouble at <em> all</em>,” Sofie said. “Honestly it’s rather nice to have someone else here to design for. Adrien and father aren’t interested and I’ve got far too many clothes already.”</p><p>“Glad to be of service,” Tanith said.</p><p>“I just wish this had occurred to me sooner,” Sofie said. “I’ll not have time to make anything impressive. Could just adjust something of mine, of course, but you’re so <em> short</em>. It’s easier to start from scratch.”</p><p>“Hey,” Tanith turned around on her stool. “I am not— <em> ow</em>.”</p><p>“Madame, you really must stay still,” Romilly said, extracting the pin now stuck in Tanith’s thigh.</p><p>“I don’t suppose Clement had the foresight to teach any of you to dance, did he?” Sofie said.</p><p>“He offered, actually,” Tanith said. “I declined.”</p><p>“Pity,” she said, not looking up from the paper. “It does make these things go faster. No fun standing in a corner all night.”</p><p>“I’m quite looking forward to standing in a corner all night.”</p><p>In truth, Tanith was hoping to do rather more than stand in a corner. She was acutely aware that time was running out, and that she would have precious few chances to discover more information about the Duke before the tourney was over. Everyone at Chateau Lavigne would be at the ball, she was assured, Duke Maxim included. It struck Tanith that this might present a perfect opportunity to do a little sneaking around, while the rest of the estate’s denizens were otherwise engaged. She had not wanted to risk such tactics early on in their visit, but things were getting desperate.</p><p>Besides, she had very little interest in attending the ball itself. After a week of observing the nobility in their natural habitat Tanith had decided that she cared very little for them, and she was certain that once they were all done up in their masks and finery and allowed to dance then they would become completely unbearable. She was counting down the days until she could return to Fort Astor with its open kitchen and crowded courtyard, the sound and smell of the sea an ever-present companion.</p><p>Sofie’s attentions went on a while longer, and when Romilly finally extracted Tanith from her fabric cocoon she could not have been more relieved. She stepped down from the stool and shook her arms out, scratching the itch on her nose that had been bothering her for the last half an hour. If this was what fashion was, she wanted no part of it.</p><p>There were refreshments laid out on a table at the side of the room — lemon tarts and fresh fruit and honey wine — and Tanith helped herself to a great deal of these before lounging on a couch near to Sofie’s drawing table.</p><p>A few minutes later Sofie removed the design she had been working on with a flourish, handing the paper to Romilly before Tanith had a chance to see it.</p><p>“There,” she said. “It won’t win any prizes, but it’s a damn sight better than turning up in chainmail.”</p><p>“Let’s just hope no one tries to stab me,” Tanith said.</p><p>“Coming from anyone other than you I’d think that was a joke,” Sofie said. “But considering the week you’ve had I imagine that’s not such an irrational fear.”</p><p>“Unless any more of Henri de Chambrun’s relatives are hanging around then it’s probably fine,” Tanith said, biting into strawberry. “I only did the one murder.”</p><p>“That’s something, I suppose.”</p><p>There was a knock at the door then, and when Romilly went to open it Nataly was standing in the hallway. The dwarf looked vaguely terrified as she walked into the solar, her hands fidgeting at her sides.</p><p>“Clem said you wanted to see me?” she said, looking over at Sofie.</p><p>“I certainly did.”</p><p>Sofie was already on her feet. She marched over to Nataly with great purpose, stroking her chin as she looked the dwarf up and down. Tanith was sure that Nataly would have been less apprehensive in the middle of the darkspawn horde.</p><p>“Not a gown,” Sofie said decisively. “Not for you.”</p><p>Nataly let out a long breath of relief, her mouth moving silently as if in prayer.</p><p>“Something tailored, I think,” Sofie continued. “Charcoal grey, maybe a little navy at the collar. I hope I’ve still got those jasper buttons somewhere. They’ll bring out your eyes.”</p><p>Tanith watched in delight as Nataly visibly blushed, her scarred face turning an obvious pink as Sofie led her to the stool to be measured.</p><p>“You’ll be turning heads all over, Nat,” she grinned up at her.</p><p>The dwarf barked out a laugh. “Shut your mouth, Lavellan.”</p><p>Once Nataly had been reassured that no one would be sending her onto the dancefloor in a mile of taffeta, the atmosphere grew notably more amicable. Tanith listened as Sofie and Nataly discussed the tourney, the predicted champion, the more surprising victories. Knowing next to nothing about jousting, she was content to let their chatter wash over her as she lounged. A few times she caught Romilly’s eye and the two of them shared a brief, knowing look. This was not their world, but they could find humour in it.</p><p>“I heard a rumour about you, Tanith,” Sofie said some time later. She was still working on the design for Nataly’s outfit, and did not look up from her sketch as she spoke.</p><p>“Oh?” Tanith sat up straight on the couch, suddenly interested.</p><p>“Apparently you were seen having a little tête-à-tête with Matheiu Bellegarde,” she said. “The two of you looked quite cosy, or so people are saying.”</p><p>Tanith snorted out a laugh. “This is just like the nobility, you know,” she said. “You have one conversation with someone and all of a sudden it’s a court scandal. We were just talking.”</p><p>“There is no ‘just talking’ in the Grand Game, darling,” Sofie said. “The aristocracy will pick apart everything you do like a boiled lobster.”</p><p>“The aristocracy can do as they like,” Tanith said. “I had a conversation with a man. That’s the end of it.”</p><p>Still, she felt her cheeks colour a little at the implication. She remembered the grace with which Bellegarde had lifted her hand, the deliberate way he had pressed his lips to her skin. Tanith was certain that such a gesture could have a thousand meanings in the court, but she only knew one reason why a man would feel inclined to kiss her.</p><p>“I have to admit, I was surprised,” Sofie said, turning her drawing board to better catch the light. “I thought you were spoken for.”</p><p>“What?” Tanith said. “By who?”</p><p>“The other Warden,” she said. “Blackwall.”</p><p>Up on the stool, Nataly sighed.</p><p>“<em>Hardly</em>,” Tanith said, hoping that her expression conveyed a suitable amount of shock and outrage. “Why would you think that? Maker, we can barely get through a dozen words without shouting at each other.”</p><p>“Well, to be honest that’s why I suspected,” Sofie said. “People don’t fight like that unless there’s something else going on. And then there was that incident at your duel.”</p><p>Tanith frowned. “What incident at my duel?”</p><p>Sofie turned around to look at Nataly, her face a picture of disbelief. “You didn’t tell her?”</p><p>“Tell me <em> what</em>?”</p><p>“We didn’t know if it was wise,” Nataly said, looking a little sheepish.</p><p>“Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?” Tanith spoke a little more loudly. “What happened at the duel?”</p><p>“He tried to stop the bout,” Sofie said. “When de Chambrun looked like he was about to finish you. Took three guards to pull him off the fence and a couple of them got bloodied for the trouble. Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so terrified, poor man.”</p><p>Tanith glared up at Nataly. “You didn’t think to mention this before?”</p><p>“Look,” Nataly said, making a placating gesture. “You can be a little… unpredictable sometimes, okay? I talked about it with Clem, and we decided that you were as likely to bite Blackwall’s head off over it than anything else. We just wanted to keep the peace, that’s all.”</p><p>Tanith wanted to be offended, but if she was being perfectly honest with herself she could see the logic in her friends’ actions. She hardly had a reputation for remaining level-headed under such circumstances, especially where Blackwall was concerned. Lacking the desire to argue, she leaned back on the couch and ate another strawberry while she collected her thoughts.</p><p>“You’re not angry, then?” Nataly asked, a little hesitantly.</p><p>Tanith shook her head. “No. I just can’t see why he went to the effort.”</p><p>“Please tell me you’re being facetious,” Sofie said.</p><p>Nataly rolled her eyes. “She’s not.”</p><p>“If the two of you don’t stop doing that I <em> will </em> get angry,” Tanith said. “What are you going on about?”</p><p>“The man loves you to death, Tanith,” Sofie said. “Surely that much is obvious?”</p><p>For a moment Tanith just blinked at her. Then she burst out laughing, clutching her chest as she leaned back into the cushions.</p><p>“Maker,” she said. “You almost had me for a second.”</p><p>Sofie gave Nataly a sympathetic look. “Is she always like this?”</p><p>The dwarf nodded. “Always. So is he.”</p><p>Something in her tone gave Tanith pause, her laughter dying in her throat. She sat up straight again, tilting her head to one side. “You can’t be serious,” she said, glancing between them. “He can’t stand the sight of me. The feeling’s mutual.”</p><p>“Do you really believe that?” Nataly asked. “The two of you were thick as thieves when you got back from Orzammar. I can’t believe that just changed overnight.”</p><p>“Well it did,” Tanith said. “He was the one who decided to make an issue out of nothing—”</p><p>“—and you decided to <em> continue </em>making an issue out of it,” Nataly said. “Honestly, Tanith, neither one of you are as subtle as you give yourselves credit for.”</p><p>“Still,” she said. “That doesn’t mean he <em> loves </em> me.”</p><p>“Listen,” Nataly said, the seriousness of her tone only slightly undermined by the way she was sticking her arms out to be measured. “I’ve known Blackwall for years. Not once have I <em> ever </em>seen him get as worked up over someone as he does over you. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s going on there.”</p><p>“Well, I guess I’m not a genius then,” Tanith said. All things considered, it wasn’t her finest retort.</p><p>“No shit, Lavellan,” Nataly smirked. “Look, just think about it, okay?”</p><p>Tanith crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe I will.”</p><p>“Excellent,” Sofie said, clapping her hands together. “Now that’s resolved, we can get back to more important matters. Nataly, dear, if you could just spin around a moment—”</p><p>In the end, Tanith found that she could think of little else. She turned over Nataly’s words for the next hour as they sat in the solar, and she was still giving them serious consideration when she walked back to the Freyan suite. Sofie and Nataly were deep in conversation and so she had left them behind, grateful for the opportunity to be alone with her thoughts for a while.</p><p>What they were suggesting was ridiculous, of course. While she and Blackwall might have briefly, temporarily, <em> fleetingly </em>harboured an attraction for one another, it had been a product of shared trauma and nothing else. Their experiences in Orzammar had left them clinging to anything that felt like life, seeking some small escape from that darkness. Or, at least, that was what Tanith had been telling herself for the past few weeks.</p><p>She thought back to the night when this conflict between them had started, the first time she had spoken to Bellegarde at dinner. Tanith had accused Blackwall of jealousy then, but she had done so mostly out of pique. It had struck her as profoundly unfair that he could walk away from her so easily and still take issue with her speaking to another.</p><p>But hadn’t she walked away too? She had allowed herself to be guided by what she thought of as the <em> right thing to do</em>, not giving any consideration to what she actually wanted. The irony of this, when she had spent that very morning accusing Blackwall of the same attitude, was not lost on her.</p><p>Perhaps she had been looking at this the wrong way. When he had confronted her after de Chambrun’s challenge she had been furious at him, at his implication that the reputation of the Wardens was more valuable than her life. But, when he had thought her in danger, he had tried to put a stop to it. Had <em> fought </em> for it. For her. Besides, she would be lying to herself if she said that she never thought about him, never caught herself daydreaming about that handful of nights on the road to Val Chevin. She still remembered the way his hands had felt against her skin, the taste of his mouth, the comfort of waking up with his arm thrown across her chest. Such things were not so easily forgotten.</p><p>It was late when Tanith finally walked into the sitting room of the Freyan suite, and she found it already dark and empty. Swallowing down her disappointment, she crossed the floor to her room. Once inside she rested her staff against the wall, then leaned down to pull off her boots.</p><p>“Hi.”</p><p>“<em>Shit</em>!” Tanith sprung to her feet, a corona of flame surrounding her hand almost without her intending it. She glanced around wildly, then breathed out a sigh of relief when she spotted the figure in the corner of the room. “Maker’s blood, what are you <em> doing </em> here?”</p><p>“Said I’d find you if anything happened.” Sera stepped out of the shadows, her bow slung across her shoulders. “Something has.”</p><p>“Alright,” Tanith said, still catching her breath. “Tell me.”</p><p>Sera’s face was grim as she spoke. “You know you said your friends went and found where the darkspawn were coming from?”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>“Did someone show them where to look?” she asked. “Old bloke, farmer?”</p><p>Tanith thought back to the account that Blackwall and Hywel had given them. “Yes,” she said. “He took them to the mine.”</p><p>“Well he’s dead.” There was a hard edge to Sera’s voice.</p><p>“What?” Tanith said. “Was it the darkspawn?”</p><p>Sera shook her head. “No. Could tell if it was. They destroy stuff, burn things down. This was clean. Someone just ran him through and left him to die.”</p><p>“He wasn’t robbed?”</p><p>“No. Purse on his belt, still full. Had some money in the house, still there.”</p><p>“You think he was killed for talking to the Wardens?” Tanith asked.</p><p>“Seems a little too convenient, yeah?” Sera said. “He lives up there for seventy years, no trouble, then one chat with your lot and he’s dead within two days.”</p><p>Tanith thought about this for a moment. “If someone was trying to keep what happened at the mine a secret, they wouldn’t be too happy about someone taking people to the front door.”</p><p>“Exactly.” Sera frowned, her pale forehead creasing behind its fringe of blonde hair. “It’s one thing to let people die because you’re too lazy to help them. Going out and killing them’s something else.”</p><p>“It really is.” Tanith pulled up the chair by the dressing table and sank into it, rubbing her face. “Shit.”</p><p>“This is getting serious,” Sera said. “Can’t let this happen again. What are you doing about it?”</p><p>“There’s a ball tomorrow night,” Tanith said. “I was going to see if I could find something useful while everyone else was distracted.”</p><p>“Not much of a plan, is it?”</p><p>“No, it’s not,” Tanith admitted. She remembered something that Romilly had told her that day in the sewing room, that whoever had planted the beehive in Duke Maxim’s office had managed to sneak in through a locked door. “Will you help me out, if I need a hand?”</p><p>“Sure,” Sera said. “You know where I am.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Tanith said. “I appreciate it.”</p><p>“You’ve got one chance to fix this, yeah?” Sera walked over to the open balcony doors, stepped up onto the balustrade. “If your plan doesn’t work, I start shooting arrows.” Then she dropped down into the dark, as quick and fluid as a cat.</p><p>So, that was that then. If Tanith didn’t find out what was going on by the time the ball was over, a mysterious vigilante would start murdering people. Not, Tanith was certain, an outcome that the Warden-Constable would be too happy with.</p><p>Knowing there was little more she could do about it that evening, Tanith finished undressing and crawled into bed. The feather mattress, which had once felt so luxurious, now seemed too soft and yielding beneath her weight. She fidgeted for a while, kicking off layers of sheets and blankets, then gave up on trying to get comfortable. Instead she stared at the canopy above her bed, trying to fit together all the pieces of the puzzle.</p><p>After a few minutes’ consideration, she came to one highly distasteful conclusion; if she wanted to solve this mystery, she was going to need help.</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Except Your Absence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>sorry for the short (and late) update pals, thanks for your patience!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He found her in the gardens, sitting on the edge of a fountain. It was early, quiet, the breeze from Lake Celestine bringing the sound of birdsong through the trees. Tanith was flipping a coin, turning it out onto the back of her hand with each catch then beginning the process anew. Blackwall watched her for a moment. The first rays of sunlight were spilling in over the high borders of the garden, catching her hair and the curve of her cheek. It turned her tawny skin to gold, picked out the details of her face. She was deeply occupied in what she was doing, her eyes tracking the path of the coin as it dropped, lips pursed in concentration.</p><p>When she saw him she caught the coin in mid-air, then tossed it over her shoulder without looking. It made a quiet sound as it fell under the water of the fountain. When Blackwall drew close enough to the pool he saw hundreds of coins just like it resting at the bottom, some new, some gone all to rust.</p><p>“You wanted to see me?” he said, taking the folded note from his pocket. The paper had been wedged into his doorframe when he had left his bedchamber that morning, the message scrawled upon it as brief as her last; <em> garden, now</em>.</p><p>“I did.”</p><p>Tanith gestured awkwardly to the low wall of the fountain, and Blackwall came to sit beside her. There was something oddly reserved about her manner that day. She didn’t seem to be in a rush to tear his throat out, for one.</p><p>“So… what’s going on?” he asked.</p><p>Tanith glanced around the garden before speaking. “You know the farmer who showed you to the mine?” she asked, keeping her voice low.</p><p>Not quite the question he had expected. “What about him?”</p><p>“Someone killed him,” Tanith said. “After he spoke to you and Hy.”</p><p>Blackwall’s blood went cold. “He’s dead? How do you know?”</p><p>“My contact told me.” Her eyes challenged him to make an issue of this point. “Someone ran him through and left him there.”</p><p>“And you think it’s connected to what’s happening with the darkspawn?”</p><p>“I do,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind the slope of her ear. “I feel like I’ve got most of the pieces now. It’s just… making them fit.”</p><p>Blackwall turned to face her. It was strange for Tanith to be behaving so amicably towards him, after their days of discontent, but he wasn’t about to make an issue of it. “What do you know so far?”</p><p>“Right.” Tanith sighed, cracked her knuckles, then began counting clues out on her fingers. “Things we know. The darkspawn are coming from that mine, through a fissure that someone blew open. There’s silver in the mine where there shouldn’t be. Duke Maxim owns the land, and was entitled to a share of the profit. And someone wanted all this kept quiet badly enough that they were prepared to kill for it.”</p><p>Blackwall nodded. “Alright.”</p><p>“One more thing.” Tanith pulled a face. “Probably should have mentioned it earlier, but we weren’t— I never found a good time. The Duke’s broke. In pretty big debt to the Empire, apparently.”</p><p>“Well that’s… interesting.”</p><p>“It is.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I’ve got a working theory. Want to hear it?”</p><p>“Go ahead.”</p><p>“So here’s what I think happened. The miners found silver, told the Duke, he got greedy because he’s got debts to pay. Had the workers dig too deep, hit the Deep Roads. He can’t afford the expense of closing it — too busy holding tourneys — and he’s scrambling to make sure no one finds out. That’s why he had the farmer killed, that’s why he ignored Perchet’s letters. He doesn’t want allnof his various mistakes going public.”</p><p>Blackwall nodded slowly. “It makes sense.”</p><p>“But it’s not <em> right</em>, is it?” Tanith said, clearly exasperated. “I keep going over it in my head. I’m missing something, aren’t I? It’s just that <em> little </em>bit off.”</p><p>“Perhaps. You’d need more proof.”</p><p>Blackwall spoke carefully, worried that any perceived criticism would turn her against him, but instead she just sighed and shook her head.</p><p>“I’m going to see what I can find out at the ball tonight,” she said. “Beyond that, I don’t know. This place is terrible.”</p><p>“I’ll second that.”</p><p>Tanith stared down at her lap for a moment, then laughed quietly to herself.</p><p>“Something funny?” he asked.</p><p>“No, it’s just…” she looked up at him, her eyes surprisingly gentle. “Reminds me of Orzammar, you know? When we were trying to work out what was going on with Tabris.”</p><p>Blackwall couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it. They had spent weeks digging for information in the dwarven city, and at the time had thought that cause as hopeless as this one.</p><p>“You almost sound like you miss it,” he said.</p><p>“I do,” Tanith said, hands fidgeting nervously in her lap. “At least there I could leave the compound. People <em> wanted </em> to talk to me. And I wasn’t trying to work it all out on my own.”</p><p>Her ears were close against her skull, the gesture Blackwall associated with <em> anxiety, hesitation, appeal</em>. It had been a long time since he had last seen Tanith so obviously fretful. She was worrying about something, and he had the distinct impression that it was not purely over her mission. There was no anger in her today, no fury when she looked at him. This was as close to the Tanith he remembered from Orzammar as he had seen in weeks.</p><p>“We weren’t a bad team, were we?” he said.</p><p>Tanith shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, we really weren’t.”</p><p>The smile she gave him then was so small and so honest that his heart ached to see it. He hadn’t realised how deeply he had been feeling the absence of this, of her looking at him so. It wasn’t right, being this distant from her, when only a few months ago her closeness alone had kept him alive in the Deep Roads. They had turned a wrong corner, made a terrible mistake somewhere along the way.</p><p>“Do you ever get the feeling that we might both be incredibly stupid?” Tanith asked.</p><p>“I’m starting to suspect it,” Blackwall said, his smile rueful.</p><p>There was a pause, during which Tanith twisted the fabric of her tabard in her fingers.</p><p>“I missed you when you were away.” The words came out in a rush, her cheeks colouring behind their freckles. “<em>Really </em> missed you. Then you were back, and I… I don’t know, you were just gone again. So quickly.”</p><p>“It wasn’t just me who ended things, Tan.”</p><p>“I know.” She wrinkled her nose. “Maker, I hate being wrong.”</p><p>He laughed. “Can I get that in writing?”</p><p>“Shut up.” Tanith cuffed him on the arm, but she smiled while she did it. “So is that all you have to say for yourself? I pour my heart out and you just sit there?”</p><p>“I missed you too,” he said. “Of course I did.”</p><p>The words felt insufficient, small. He had thought about her constantly during his three months on the road, longing to talk to her, to touch her, to see the way her ears pricked upwards in welcome when she looked at him. In many ways it had been more of a challenge than the Deep Roads ever had, to be torn apart so swiftly when they had only just begun to know one another.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Tanith said, shifting a little where she sat.</p><p>“What for?”</p><p>She gave him a look. “You know what for. I’ve hardly been on my best behaviour this week.”</p><p>“Are you ever?”</p><p>Tanith rolled her eyes. “I’m trying to apologise,” she said. “Please don’t make it more difficult than it already is.”</p><p>Blackwall reached out tentatively, placing his hand over hers where it lay on the marble lip of the fountain. “You have nothing to apologise for.”</p><p>“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” she said. “That thing you do. The being nice thing.”</p><p>“What would you prefer I do?”</p><p>Tanith didn’t reply. Instead she took his hand and pulled him towards her, wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face in the crook of his shoulder. He had forgotten the warmth of her, the way her body fit perfectly against his. Blackwall breathed in the clean scent of her hair, his fingers stroking down the length of her spine. The tightness that had been coiling in his chest for weeks released itself as he melted into her touch.</p><p>“Truce?” She whispered the word into his ear.</p><p>“Truce.”</p><p>When Tanith finally pulled away from him she kept her forehead pressed to his, as though she could not bear to break the touch entirely. Their twined fingers rested in her lap, as simple as speaking.</p><p>“I’m tired of this,” she said. “I’m tired of pretending I don’t— I’m just tired.”</p><p>He could feel the warmth of her lips, she was that close. There was a tension in the line of her back as she waited for him to make the last step, to cross the final threshold. Barely an inch of movement and he would be hers again, as completely as he had been during that handful of days in early summer. It should be such a simple thing. But something held him back for a moment, stopped him. They had been right in one respect; their being together would cause complications, would likely sew discord with the Warden-Constable. When Blackwall had joined the order he had done so with the intention of living an honest life at last, one free of scandal and difficulty and dishonour. Even now he was aware of the nobles walking in the garden, watching curiously as they passed. The weight of the Grey Wardens’ reputation was heavy on his shoulders, slowing his thoughts, making him sluggish.</p><p>Despite all of this doubt, he only hesitated for a second. But that second was enough. His heart sank as he felt Tanith’s hand stiffen around his, saw the cold sting in her eyes as she leaned back from him.</p><p>“Still like that, is it?” she asked quietly.</p><p>“Tanith—”</p><p>“I don’t know what I was thinking.” Tanith extricated her fingers, rubbing her hand against her tabard as if to wipe it clean. “You’d never be brave enough.”</p><p>He frowned at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”</p><p>She furrowed her brow, mimicking his expression. “‘Don’t fight the duel, don’t talk to Bellegarde, don’t jump over the balcony.’ Maker forbid you actually do something bold for once—”</p><p>“It’s not about being bold—”</p><p>“Then what is it about?” she said, getting to her feet. “As far as I can work out, there’s only one other explanation.” Tanith’s hands clenched at her sides. “It’s nothing to do with the rules, is it? You’re afraid that I’ll damage your perfect reputation. You’re ashamed of me.”</p><p>“I never said that, Tanith.”</p><p>“But you’re thinking it,” she said, her eyes accusatory. “Aren’t you?”</p><p>“Of course not!”</p><p>Panic bubbled up in Blackwall’s throat. He was losing his grip on her, on this brief, welcome reprieve. While she was wrong about him being ashamed of her, he couldn’t deny that her unpredictability was part of what had held him back. She was a storm, a hurricane, and the sheer force of her made him wary. Watching her dash herself against the world was too hard for him. It hurt too much.</p><p>“This isn’t going to work, is it?” Tanith blinked, and her lashes came away wet. “Stupid to think it could.”</p><p>“Tan, please—”</p><p>But she was already walking away, her boots crunching angrily against the gravel. Blackwall sat for a moment, stunned by the sudden sea change. The distant sound of birdsong still cut through the morning air, the fountain still burbled gently behind him. Nothing was different, and everything was different, and he could not see a path through it. Perhaps it was better this way, he thought. Perhaps this was how it was supposed to be.</p><p>Even as the words crossed his mind, he knew he did not believe them.</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. The Temptations Of The Wicked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tanith sucked in a slow breath as she walked into the ballroom. If Chateau Lavigne’s finery had seemed excessive up until now, this was something entirely different. There were branches of beeswax candles on every surface, filling the high-ceilinged room with soft light and the smell of honey, and liveried footmen circulated with trays of drinks and canapes. Every guest dripped with silk and jewels and gold, each mask more elaborate than the last. Tanith wondered how much of an impact this indulgence would have had on Duke Maxim’s dwindling coffers.</p><p>She felt distinctly self-conscious as she walked through the crowd, though less so than she might have expected. The dress that Sofie had designed for her had arrived at her room that afternoon, wrapped in tissue paper and tied with ribbon. To Tanith’s relief it was simple, cut wide across the shoulders and snug at the waist, the skirt a sweep of fabric that ended below her knees, giving her freedom to move. She would not have felt comfortable wearing anything she could not fight in, though she hoped this would not have to be the case. Sofie had also insisted on lending her a mask, a fairly plain piece of worked silver which she guaranteed would compliment the blue of her gown. Tanith had drawn the line at borrowing shoes, however — she had seen the impractical little slippers the court ladies wore, and dreaded them — and so wore her usual boots and leggings under the dress. Incongruous, perhaps, but at least she wouldn’t spend the entire night with her feet chafing.</p><p>The other Wardens were standing by a table in the corner of the room, looking distinctly out of place beside the gilded nobility. Nataly was also wearing the clothes Sofie had made for her, fitted breeches and coat in charcoal-grey, and Tanith had to admit they suited her. She took a glass of something fizzy from a passing footman and went to join her companions, pointedly standing as far away from Blackwall as possible. Her anger had burned itself out over the course of the afternoon, leaving behind a small, quiet sadness. This was much worse. For a brief moment in the gardens she had hoped that everything might be resolved, that they could go back to the way they were before their return to Fort Astor. Stupid to think so. She would never be enough for him, not while she was this volatile, this wild. If he could not take her as she was then he could not take her at all. Tanith was firm on this point, even as she felt hairline cracks forming on her heart.</p><p>“Maker, look at you,” Clement said as she approached. “Beautiful.”</p><p>“Shut up.” Tanith’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, unused as she was to hearing such things. “How does this work then? We just stand here until it’s over?”</p><p>“More or less,” Clement said. “Not that there aren’t other activities. Dancing. Gossiping. Making life hell for your rivals. The Orlesian national pastimes.”</p><p>“Sounds <em> thrilling</em>.”</p><p>Tanith looked out across the dancefloor, where a dozen couples were already stepping elegantly to the strains of flute and lyre. She found Duke Maxim standing on the balcony overlooking the festivities, Adrien and Sofie on either side of him. They were all dressed in Desmarais green and silver, the stones in their masks catching the light. Tanith wondered how long she should wait before sneaking out of the ballroom to investigate other parts of the estate. It seemed prudent to wait for an hour or so, allowing the guests to grow tipsy enough that they would not mark her passing.</p><p>Then there was the challenge of finding the right exit. There were numerous doors leading off the great chamber, most of them flanked with armoured guards. If possible she wanted to leave without being seen, taking the most direct route to the Duke’s private rooms. Tanith had spent that afternoon walking the winding corridors of Chateau Lavigne, attempting to find her bearings. She now had a rough idea of where the wings of the house sat in relation to one another, though admittedly without any great degree of confidence. It seemed as likely as anything else that she would just get horribly lost. Well, if it came to it she could always walk to the shepherd’s hut and fetch Sera. An unappealing last resort, given her threat about the arrows.</p><p>“I’m going to look around,” Tanith said, draining her glass and placing it on the table. “Come and find me if you see anything interesting.”</p><p>She walked a slow circle around the perimeter of the ballroom, keeping her ears alert to the conversations of nobles she passed. Tanith heard whispers about extramarital affairs, about trade disagreements and the scandalous behaviour of the attendees, but nothing that related to her mission. Many of the guests looked askance at her as she passed, eyeing her ears and her boots in particular. For once Tanith wished that she weren’t such an obvious anomaly in this place. People might not mark an aristocrat swanning out of the ballroom in the middle of the festivities, but they would certainly notice an elven Grey Warden doing the same.</p><p>Not for the first time, Tanith was struck by the sheer pointlessness of the event. To her mind, parties should be fun; there should be drinking and singing and, possibly, a little fighting to keep things interesting. If there was dancing it should the kind that left everyone laughing, clumsy and impromptu. This reserved display of fashion and wealth served no purpose whatsoever, and did not even seem to make any of its attendees particularly happy. Tanith saw more sour faces among the crowd than smiling ones. What a waste, for people like this to have the wealth of the world at their fingertips, and not even use it for anything entertaining.</p><p>She was on her second circuit of the ballroom when she felt a light touch on her shoulder. Turning around, she found Bellegarde standing by a table behind her. He was dressed all in burgundy and bronze, his garments well-cut but not ostentatious. His eyes crinkled behind his mask as he smiled at her.</p><p>“I almost didn’t recognise you,” he said.</p><p>Tanith laughed, brushing a hand down the front of her dress. “I barely recognise myself.”</p><p>“You look wonderful.”</p><p>“Thank you,” she said, fighting back a blush. “Having fun?”</p><p>“Not particularly.” Bellegarde looked out across the ballroom. “These events always strike me as a little excessive.”</p><p>“I quite agree.”</p><p>“Still, they can be a pleasant distraction,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’d care to dance?”</p><p>She snorted indecorously. “I don’t know how.”</p><p>“And I haven’t attempted it in years. We’ll likely both embarrass ourselves.”</p><p>Tanith glanced back over to the Wardens’ table, and was unsurprised to find Blackwall watching them from across the room. “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”</p><p>Bellegarde led her out to the dancefloor, settling one hand on her shoulder and holding the other out to the side. Despite his previous assertion he moved with practiced elegance, guiding Tanith smoothly across the floor. There was something inherently ridiculous about it, she thought, to be twirling around a ballroom like some noble chit, but she at least enjoyed the disapproving looks they drew from the other dancers.</p><p>“I’m sure there’ll be plenty more gossip flying around tomorrow,” Tanith said. “They’ll be saying that the elven Grey Warden is getting ideas above her station.”</p><p>“Let them talk,” Bellegarde said. “The very concept of station is outmoded.”</p><p>“You think so?” she asked, surprised. “That’s not what I’d expect to hear from a Comte.”</p><p>He gave an eloquent shrug, still stepping lightly across the floor. “I merely see which way the wind is blowing. In a hundred years the nobility will be an ornament at best. The power of the Empire is waning.”</p><p>“Don’t they hang people for saying things like that?”</p><p>“Not people like me.”</p><p>“Doesn’t that worry you? The idea of the nobility losing power.”</p><p>“Not especially.” He turned his arm and she turned with it, grateful that she was not stumbling around in dancing slippers. “It is my belief that a man earns his station through deed, not through birth. You, as a Grey Warden, have likely done more for Orlais than half the people in this room.”</p><p>“I don’t know if that’s true,” she said.</p><p>“Regardless, I refuse to allow my title alone to carry me through life. That is why I enlisted in the army. That is why I make investments, lest I end up as penniless as our host.”</p><p>“What sort of investments?”</p><p>“Various things,” he said. “Imports, trade. Industry. Construction, mining—”</p><p>“Mining?”</p><p>Tanith lost her footing for a second, and Bellegarde reached out to catch her before she stumbled. His hand remained on her waist after she had recovered herself, its grip almost proprietary.</p><p>“Yes,” he said. “The foothills around Lake Celestine are rich with tin. An astute man could make his fortune in this region.”</p><p>“I see.” Tanith fought to keep her expression under control, hoping desperately that Bellegarde would not recognise the alarm in her ears for what it was. “Sounds like you live an interesting life.”</p><p>“I do.” His eyes were unreadable behind his mask. “As I’m sure you do, Grey Warden.”</p><p>They danced in silence until the song was over, Tanith barely paying attention to the placement of her feet. Her mind was racing, and she was horribly conscious of the firm hold Bellegarde had on her waist. When the music finally stilled she resisted the urge to sigh with relief. Reluctantly she allowed him to lead her back up the steps, knowing it would look suspicious if she hurried away.</p><p>“That could have been a much bigger debacle,” he said, lifting her hand to kiss it. “You dance well.”</p><p>“As do you.” Tanith resisted the urge to snatch her hand back. “Enjoy the party.”</p><p>“I will.” Bellegarde looked at her for a long moment before walking away.</p><p>She forced herself to move slowly, making her way back to the Wardens’ table at a gentle stroll, pausing to pretend to examine a painting on the wall. It was agonising, this false nonchalance, but she did not dare risk drawing attention to herself.</p><p>To her irritation Blackwall was the only one of her companions still standing at the table. There were also far more people milling around than there had been previously, gathering in clusters to chit-chat about nothing. It would be almost impossible to have a conversation here without being heard. Tanith approached the table next to Blackwall’s, pointedly not looking at him as she spoke.</p><p>“Ask me to dance,” she said under her breath.</p><p>“I’d rather not.”</p><p>Tanith sighed. “It’s important,” she said. “Just shut up and do it.”</p><p>“I can’t shut up <em> and </em> ask you to dance at the same time.”</p><p>“Maker, I swear—”</p><p>“Fine.” Blackwall turned to her, his eyes hard as he reached out a hand towards her.</p><p>“Thank you.” Tanith took it, dropping into a tiny, sarcastic curtsy. “Hurry up.”</p><p>When they were out on the dancefloor she stood as close to him as she felt that propriety would allow, resting one hand on his shoulder and leaning close enough to speak quietly. For a moment she was very aware of the nearness of him, the familiar smell of his neck, but she pushed those thoughts briskly from her mind as they began to dance. Not the time.</p><p>“Why are we doing this?” Blackwall asked, his hand noticeably rigid in hers. “Didn’t seem like something you’d have much interest in. Not with me, anyway.”</p><p>“Because I needed to talk to you without anyone hearing,” she said. “Listen to me. I think Bellegarde might be behind this.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>He stopped still without warning, causing Tanith to almost collide with his chest. She scowled up at him.</p><p>“Very subtle. Keep dancing.” Once they were back in step Tanith leaned forward to speak into his ear. “Bellegarde owns the mine. I’m sure of it.”</p><p>“You think he opened the fissure?” Blackwall asked, his voice urgent.</p><p>“Maybe,” Tanith said. “I’m still fitting it together.” She furrowed her brow, tried to concentrate on what she knew, where this revelation fit among it. “Let’s say Bellegarde does own the mine, and they find silver where they were expecting tin. He <em> knows </em> the Duke is broke. And what’s to stop the Duke claiming the mine for his own, now he knows there’s more profit in it? It’s his land, after all.”</p><p>Blackwall nodded slowly. “Nothing.”</p><p>“So how could Bellegarde make sure he got to keep the mine for himself?”</p><p>“By buying the land.” He let out a breath, eyes widening with realisation. “Maker’s blood.”</p><p>“Exactly,” Tanith said, squeezing his hand. “Who wants land swarming with darkspawn, especially when they can’t afford to do anything about it? Blow a hole to the Deep Roads, and suddenly it’s more of a liability than an asset. The Duke’s probably <em> begging </em>Bellegarde to take it off his hands.”</p><p>Blackwall nodded silently, an odd expression on his face. Tanith recognised it for what it was immediately.</p><p>“If you say ‘I told you so’ I swear I will throttle you right here on the dancefloor.”</p><p>“I didn’t say anything,” he said, clearly fighting back a smile. “So. What do we do now?”</p><p>“We need to tell the others,” she said, “and then we need to tell the Duke. You find Nataly, I’ll get Clem and Hy. Meet on the balcony in five minutes.”</p><p>“Might need to be quicker than that,” Blackwall said, looking around the ballroom. “Can’t see the Duke anywhere. Or Bellegarde.”</p><p>“Shit,” Tanith said. “Alright. Let’s go.”</p><p>They abandoned the dance halfway through, heading off in separate directions as they went seeking their companions. While she couldn’t help but be pleased by the revelation, there was a part of her that felt sick at the thought of it. All week she had been trading niceties with the man responsible for the darkspawn attacks, for the deaths of every person the creatures had killed. Tanith felt the first wisps of anger curl up inside her like smoke from a fire, and silently fanned those flames. She might need them.</p><p>Five minutes later the Wardens were gathered on the ballroom balcony, in a corner where they would not be overheard. Tanith explained her theory as quickly as she could, keeping her voice low.</p><p>“I can’t pretend I’m not relieved,” Clement said when she had finished her telling. “Father’s a twelve-carat bastard, but at least he didn’t open a fissure to the bloody Deep Roads.”</p><p>“And you’re sure about this?” Nataly said. “It’s a big accusation to make with no proof.”</p><p>“I know,” Tanith said, thinking about Sera and her arrows. “But we’re out of time. Clem, where’s the Duke?”</p><p>“If he’s not here he’ll probably be in his study. He often leaves these things early.”</p><p>“Let’s go then,” Blackwall said. “Time’s wasting.”</p><p>Clement led the way through the chateau, for which Tanith was grateful. Her own knowledge of the estate’s topography was patchy at best, and the sooner they reached the Duke the better. The wide corridors were eerily quiet now that all the other guests were at the party, the occasional masked servant slipping silently through doors the only other presence. Tanith’s heart was racing in her chest, partly from excitement, partly from nerves. There was always the chance that her guess had been the wrong one, and that she was about to put the Wardens in a very difficult situation. Still, no point worrying about that now. Having to explain to Perchet why their host had ended up with an arrow through his eye wasn’t exactly an appealing prospect either.</p><p>There were no guards at the door of Duke Maxim’s study tonight, and Clement opened the door without knocking. Tanith followed after him, her blood running cold when she stepped into the room. The Duke was standing on one side of his desk and Bellegarde on the other. They had obviously been deep in conversation when the Wardens arrived, and they looked up as the doors opened. Bellegarde’s face was impassive. Duke Maxim’s was a mask of rage.</p><p>“Speak of the devil,” he said. “I was just about to send for you.”</p><p>“Father,” Clement said. “We need to talk to you. There’s something you should know.”</p><p>The Duke straightened up, his prodigious height making him appear even more fearsome. “I know everything there is to know,” he said. “Duke Mathieu has just brought your activities to my attention.”</p><p>“What activities?” Tanith said, frowning.</p><p>A movement at Bellegarde’s elbow caught her eye. There was someone else standing with him, small and still enough that Tanith had not noticed them at first.</p><p>“Go on,” Bellegarde said gently. “Tell them what you told me.”</p><p>Romilly stepped forward, her hands working nervously in front of her. She glanced at Duke Maxim, who nodded, and then spoke.</p><p>“I heard you,” she said, her voice timid. “In your suite. Talking about the darkspawn. You— you said that the Wardens would have to take the land by force. To wipe them out. You said it was your duty to do so.”</p><p>Oh, she was good. The fidgeting hands, the downcast eyes, the tremor in her voice. A pitch-perfect <em> helpless elf </em> act. Tanith had used the same manner herself many a time, when she was trying to wheedle her way out of trouble. She wondered what Bellegarde had promised Romilly for her deception. Money, probably. Enough to make her family secure, enough to move her daughter out of the alienage before the purges came. Tanith couldn’t blame her. A year ago she probably would have done the same, and for much less.</p><p>Clement’s face had crumpled. “Father, she’s lying! We never—”</p><p>“Be quiet!” the Duke snapped. “Not another word from you. I knew you had ulterior motives in coming here, Clement, but I never thought that my own <em> son </em> would conspire treason against me.” He gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles white and shaking.</p><p>“Your Grace,” Nataly said, taking a careful step forward. “There’s been a misunderstanding. The Wardens have no intention of invading your lands. The Comte has his own reasons for telling you this.”</p><p>“And who should I believe?” Maxim asked. “A man of good standing, a friend of my house? Or an order made up of the dregs of society?”</p><p>“Hang on—” Tanith took a step forward, but Hywel put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.</p><p>“I want you out,” Duke Maxim said, turning away from them. “Tonight. Pack your things and go. The Grey Wardens are hereby banished from my lands.”</p><p>“Your Grace, this is madness,” Blackwall said, pointing towards Bellegarde. “That man—”</p><p>“I will not hear your excuses.” The Duke’s voice was sharp as steel. “Get out. And do not doubt that the Empress will be hearing of this. Perhaps Ferelden had the right of it, when they exiled your order.”</p><p>For a moment, no one moved. Tanith glared daggers at Bellegarde, but his dark eyes were just as still as they had always been. He had played them like a fiddle. She was on the verge of giving him a piece of her mind when Clement sighed and turned to the other Wardens.</p><p>“Come on,” he said quietly. “Let’s go.”</p><p>Tanith didn’t want to leave. She wanted to stay, to fight, to scream at the Duke until he heard what they had to say. But she knew that it was not her place, and that if Clement had decided their time here was finished then the rest of them would follow. They filed out of the study, too stunned for speaking.</p><p>“Well,” Hywel said when they were back in the corridor. “That was a fucking disaster.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Tanith said. “If I’d figured it out earlier this wouldn’t have happened.”</p><p>Clement pulled her into a quick one-armed hug. “Don’t be silly,” he said. “I don’t think it would have mattered much. It’s clear how much credit father gives the opinions of the Grey Wardens.” His voice was edged with bitterness.</p><p>“So what now then?” Blackwall asked. “We can’t just let the bastard get away with it.”</p><p>Nataly shrugged. “What choice do we have, if the Duke won’t cooperate? Better to get back and tell Margot as soon as we can. Start doing damage control.”</p><p>“That can’t just be it,” Tanith said. “There has to be something else we can do.”</p><p>“Like what, Lavellan? We’re out of time. You said so yourself.”</p><p>Tanith was silent for a moment. “Maybe not,” she said. “There’s still one arrow left in the quiver.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hey y'all, as usual thanks so much for reading! there's only 3 chapters left to go, but just a heads up posting schedule might not be daily for the next couple (it's been a long week and I might need little a break)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. The Rock To Which I Cling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sofie arrived at the Freyan suite not long after the Wardens had returned to collect their things, bursting into the room with a look of horror on her face. Her cheeks were pink below her mask, and she rushed straight to where her brother stood packing his travelsack.</p><p>“Maker, what <em> happened</em>?” she asked, laying a hand on Clement’s shoulder. “One minute you were there, and the next everyone’s saying that you’ve been banished?”</p><p>“Father happened.” Clement’s mouth was a thin line as he secured the buckles. “He’s being played for a fool, Sof, but he won’t listen to me.”</p><p>Sofie ran a hand through her hair. “Stupid old goat. Should I speak to him?”</p><p>“He won’t listen. Besides, it was your maidservant who lied to him in the first place.”</p><p>“What?” Her eyes went wide with shock. “Not Romilly?”</p><p>“I’m afraid so,” Hywel said gently. “She is working for Bellegarde, it seems.”</p><p>“But why?” Sofie asked. “I thought… I’ve always tried to treat her well. What reason would she have?”</p><p>Blackwall noticed Tanith open her mouth as if to speak, then close it again. He imagined that she would have some insight into the inner workings of the elven servant’s mind, imagined too that the others would not understand an explanation if she gave it. Tanith had been quiet since returning to the suite, packing her bag quickly and discarding her mask on the sitting room table. Whatever her plan was, she had not spoken of it.</p><p>“You can’t just leave,” Sofie said. “There must be some way to make him listen.”</p><p>“I’m working on that,” Tanith said. She turned to the other Wardens. “I’ll come and find you. Don’t leave without me.”</p><p>She began to head for the door, but Sofie held out a hand to stop her.</p><p>“There’s guards waiting to escort you out,” she said apologetically. “They won’t let you go anywhere.”</p><p>Tanith stopped still. “Right,” she said, frowning to herself. “Okay. Backup plan.”</p><p>There was something in her tone that made Blackwall feel distinctly uncomfortable. “What are you going to do?”</p><p>She looked at him, her chin firm. “I’m going to jump off the balcony.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I said, I’m going to jump off the balcony.” She turned away from him. “Hywel, would you give me a hand?”</p><p>Her trainer nodded, and the two of them walked off towards Tanith’s bedchamber. Blackwall followed, certain that even she could not be so stupid as to jump out of a first-floor window. Once they were outside Hywel and Tanith shared a glance with one another, then raised their staves out towards the gardens. The ground shook a little, and a moment later several great vines had pushed themselves out of the earth below, wrapping tightly around the balustrades. Tanith gave a small, victorious laugh, then tucked her staff under one arm.</p><p>“If you run into the Duke, keep him talking,” she said, climbing out onto the lattice of vines. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”</p><p>“Tanith,” Blackwall said. “What are you—”</p><p>“Just trust me, alright?” she said, her eyes pleading. “You used to.”</p><p>He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Be careful.”</p><p>“I’ll try.”</p><p>Then she was scurrying down the makeshift ladder, as quick as a squirrel. A moment later Blackwall heard her land on the gravel below, and saw a dim shape running through the gardens towards the border of the estate. He watched her go, feeling numb.</p><p>Hywel patted Blackwall’s shoulder. “At least she’s never boring, eh?”</p><p>The Wardens finished packing up what few items they had brought to the estate with them, speaking little to one another. Blackwall was half-tempted to fill his pack with silverware for the trouble, but thought better of it. It wouldn’t do for the order to fall any further from favour. Sofie accompanied them as they left the Freyan suite, remaining stalwart at her brother’s side as half a dozen armed guards escorted them through the halls of Chateau Lavigne. Many nobles had drifted out of the ballroom to watch the Wardens leave, whispering to one another from doorways and vestibules. Blackwall’s stomach sank further with each new gossipmonger they passed. Rumours spread fast in Orlais, and it would not be long before every lord and lady in the Empire knew of the Grey Wardens’ banishment. Many would likely follow suit, ejecting the order from their lands lest they too come under threat of invasion.</p><p>Duke Maxim was waiting for them outside the estate’s front entrance, his face as hard as flint. Bellegarde stood alongside him, with Lagrange at his shoulder. Blackwall made eye contact with Bellegarde as the Wardens stopped to face the Duke, and had to bite back a stream of curses when the Comte gave him a small, smug smile.</p><p>“You’re making a mistake, father,” Sofie said, her hands clenched by her sides. “Clement is your <em> son </em>. Does our family mean nothing to you?”</p><p>“Clement ceased to be a member of this family when he abandoned us for the Grey Wardens,” the Duke said. “You are coming dangerously close to joining him in that exile.”</p><p>“Perhaps I should.” Her voice quavered in her throat. “Perhaps I’d rather be with him than here with you.”</p><p>The slightest flicker of doubt passed across Duke Maxim’s features. “Don’t talk such nonsense, Sofie. Your home is here.”</p><p>“Your children have the right of it, Your Grace,” Nataly said. She spoke calmly, with authority, her years spent among the nobility of Orzammar paying dividends. “Comte Mathieu has a vested interest in pitting you against the Wardens. If you would just listen—”</p><p>“I am under no obligation to attend to your lies,” he said. “Off with you. Get out of my sight.”</p><p>“Maker, you’re behaving like a child!” Clement snapped, stepping towards his father. “You think you’re so much better than everyone else, don’t you? You’d rather let yourself be manipulated than lose your precious reputation.”</p><p>“How dare you speak to me that way.” The Duke’s eyes were cold and sharp as chips of ice. “I am your father—”</p><p>“Well, apparently not!” Clement was shouting now, his voice echoing through the night. “If you claim I’m no longer part of this family, then you can’t use that argument any more. I’ll speak to you however I please.”</p><p>They continued sniping at one another, both father and son growing more heated as time went on. Whether Clement was playing for time, or whether he had simply wished to say these things for years, Blackwall could not tell. The disagreement was still ongoing when Tanith emerged from the shadows. She was breathing hard, and there were dry leaves stuck among her curls.</p><p>“Nearly there,” she said, glancing over to where Clement and Duke Maxim stood toe-to-toe. “I just need a little more time.”</p><p>“We’re running out of ways to delay,” Hywel said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Duke set his guards on us the moment those two stop fighting.”</p><p>“Shit.” Tanith chewed her lip, then rested her hand on Blackwall’s shoulder. “Any ideas?”</p><p>His thoughts raced in response to the question, trying to come up with some tactic that might buy them some time. It was difficult to think past her touch, light as it was. After a moment something came to him, something stupid and inadvisable, and he heaved out a sigh.</p><p>“I have one idea,” he said.</p><p>“Okay,” Tanith said, her face lighting up. “Is it a good idea?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Well, we’ve not got a better one,” she said. “Do it anyway.”</p><p>Blackwall nodded, then turned towards where the others stood. He walked over to Bellegarde, taking in his fine clothes, his arrogant bearing, his expressionless face, letting that loathing steel him. When they were a few feet apart the Comte raised a questioning eyebrow at him, seeming almost amused by his approach.</p><p>Trying to keep his hands steady, Blackwall pulled off his glove and threw it to the ground between them.</p><p>“I see,” Bellegarde said, looking down at it. “So we are playing this game, are we?”</p><p>Blackwall ignored him. “Mathieu Bellegarde,” he said. “You work against our order. I demand satisfaction.”</p><p>Clement and the Duke had ceased arguing now, distracted by this new development. Duke Maxim’s jaw trembled with anger.</p><p>“Do not be a fool,” he said. “You only delay the inevitable. Leave now with no blood spilled and we shall all be the better for it.”</p><p>Bellegarde held out a placating hand. “The Grey Warden has a right to this, if he feels insult done. I accept the challenge.”</p><p>A handful of quiet gasps. Blackwall’s heart was pounding in his chest, a wave of nausea rising in his stomach. He had not fought a man in single combat for years, and Bellegarde had always been known for his swordsmanship. There was every chance that he was nailing down his own coffin with this gambit.</p><p>“Very well,” the Duke sighed. “Will you name a second, Mathieu?” He glanced at Lagrange, standing at his patron’s shoulder.</p><p>“No need,” Bellegarde said, reaching up to undo the ties of his mask. “I would not see another man fight my battles for me. Corentin, if you would fetch my sword.”</p><p>Lagrange nodded, then set off back towards the estate. That would buy them another few minutes. Blackwall felt half-dazed as he walked over to where the other Wardens stood, the enormity of his decision crashing over him like a wave. Hywel looked incredulous, Nataly worried, Clement stunned. Tanith stood with her hands on her hips as she watched him return, the expression on his face one of mingled horror and admiration.</p><p>“Wow,” she breathed. “That really was a bad idea.”</p><p>“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>Tanith shook her head firmly. “Don’t be,” she said. “It was perfect. Really, really stupid. But perfect.”</p><p>Her approval bolstered him a little. “Hopefully this won’t go badly for us.”</p><p>“Listen.” She stepped closer to him. “You don’t need to win, alright? Just keep him occupied for a while. If my plan works you won’t even need to finish the duel.”</p><p>“Then I hope it works. I don’t like my chances if it doesn’t.”</p><p>Tanith grimaced. “Maker, don’t say things like that. You’ll be fine.” She glanced over his shoulder. “Shit. Looks like it’s time.”</p><p>Blackwall turned to see Lagrange handing Bellegarde his sword. The Comte had removed his mask and coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves, looking every inch the duellist. He looked back to Tanith. There was an anxious slant to her ears, and her tawny skin was paler than usual. The weight of responsibility for the Wardens’ banishment was likely weighing heavy on her shoulders by now. All week he had been reprimanding her for her reckless action, all week he had levelled nothing but criticism at her. Yet she was the one who had been doing the work for the Grey Wardens, not him. She had the right of it, that morning in the gardens. Compared to her, he was never bold.</p><p>He was about to participate in an ill-advised duel with the man who had conspired against the order. His brothers-in-arms were there, watching on, waiting for him to fight for their honour. The Duke, already furious over imagined crimes, stared hard at his back. All the while Tanith looked up at him, a worried cast to her dark eyes, proud of him for the first time in weeks. Given the circumstances, there probably could not have been a worse time to kiss her. Ultimately, that was why he did.</p><p>Tanith froze for the space of half a breath, her body gone stiff with surprise, then she pushed herself up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her mouth was smiling and eager against his, the way she pressed herself to him making the act far more scandalous that he had intended. Blackwall found he did not care.</p><p>When she finally broke away her expression was soft, though there was a wicked glint in her eye. Tanith reached up to cup the side of his face. “It would be really embarrassing if you died now,” she said. “Try not to.”</p><p>He laughed, then leaned down to kiss her again. “I’ll try.”</p><p>“Good.” Tanith clapped him on the arm. “Now go give the little shit a kicking.”</p><p>Before he walked away he glanced over at his companions. Hywel and Nataly looked vaguely smug, as did Sofie, but the dawning realisation on Clement’s face was enough to make him laugh again. Lips still warm, Blackwall turned and approached Bellegarde.</p><p>“You are certain you want to do this?” the Comte asked when he drew close enough. “If you yield now I would accept it.”</p><p>“I’ve wanted to do this for years.” Blackwall drew his sword. “Enough talking.”</p><p>“Very well,” Bellegarde shrugged. “Let us begin.”</p><p>They circled one another for a long moment, each man getting the measure of his opponent. Bellegarde was taller, more agile, but lacked brute strength. The sword the Comte carried was narrow, closer to a rapier. It would give him the advantage of speed but little else. Blackwall tried to bring back the memories of his time fighting in tourney melees, tried to remember the tactics that had brought him victory back then.</p><p>Bellegarde attacked first, left arm held behind his back as he lunged forward. It was an open strike, and easy to parry, though the sheer swiftness of it shook Blackwall’s resolve somewhat. He took a swing of his own, high towards the shoulder, but Bellegarde dodged out of the way with apparent ease. They both paused after this first maneuver, eyeing one another closely. This was not a fight that would be won by sheer force.</p><p>Blackwall moved to strike again and Bellegarde countered, the ring of metal echoing through the night. When the Comte thrust forward again Blackwall stepped out of the way, coming in low in an attempt to throw him off balance. It worked, if only for a moment, but the next swing of his sword met empty air. A swift movement to the side, a quick riposte, a low grunt of effort.</p><p>Bellegarde’s face was maddeningly still. Without his mask he was all sharp angles and pride, every inch the noble. The irritation that this woke in Blackwall stirred him onwards, but it made him clumsy too. He narrowly avoided being speared through the leg, then missed his return strike by inches. For all this, the two of them were evenly matched. Their training had been near-identical, after all, their martial experience broadly the same. Endurance would be just as important here as skill.</p><p>Blackwall tried to keep his wits about him as they fought, wary of Bellegarde’s fencer’s cunning. The way he set his feet told something of his intentions in advance, and that was enough for Blackwall to keep himself out of danger. They fought slowly, strike and counter-strike, each hoping the other would tire first. Facing darkspawn in the Deep Roads had almost been preferable to this. At least that had been true combat, without rules and guidelines and an audience. After years using a shield he had all but forgotten how to fight without one, and the lack of weight on his free arm left him a little off-kilter.</p><p>In the end, that was his downfall. Bellegarde darted forward and Blackwall lifted his shield arm without thinking, correcting himself just a moment too late. The sword caught his upper arm and tore through flesh, the sudden pain leaving him reeling. He heard the others gasp behind him. If this was a duel to first blood he would have lost already. Bellegarde withdrew his blade and pushed his advantage, taking a clean step to the side and preparing to lunge once more.</p><p>“<em>Stop!</em>”</p><p>Tanith’s voice cut through the air like a knife, and a moment later Blackwall heard running footsteps on the paving stones. She skidded to a halt in front of him, putting herself bodily between him and Bellegarde.</p><p>“Maker’s mercy,” Duke Maxim snapped. “What nonsense is this? If you think—”</p><p>“Oh, just <em> shut up</em>, will you?” Tanith wheeled around to face him. “Stop talking for a minute and listen. We’re trying to help you here, much as it pains me.”</p><p>The Duke stood silently, his eyes wide in shock. It was likely that no one had ever dared to speak to him with such impertinence before. Still, it had the desired effect, and he did not attempt to reply. It was then that Blackwall noticed that Tanith was not alone. There was another elf with her, blonde and wiry with a bow slung across her back. She was holding a leather folio in one hand, which Tanith took from her and held out towards the Duke.</p><p>“Bellegarde is lying to you,” Tanith said, her eyes flashing. “The darkspawn are coming from <em> his </em> mine. He found silver there, and blew a hole to the Deep Roads rather than let you have it. Look here.” She thrust the folio into his hand. “Land deeds, all drawn up and ready for you to sign. Found in his rooms.”</p><p>The Duke opened the folio and flicked through the papers inside, still looking a little stunned.</p><p>“Please,” Bellegarde laughed easily. “This is ridiculous, Maxim. The Grey Wardens are lying—”</p><p>“They’re not.”</p><p>Blackwall looked up to see Lagrange stepping forward, his face ashen. For the first time, Bellegarde’s composure slipped. He scowled at his protege, knuckles white where he gripped the hilt of his sword.</p><p>“Corentin—”</p><p>“No, Mathieu.” Lagrange made a firm gesture. “I’m done with this.” He turned to the Duke. “What the Grey Warden says is true, Your Grace.”</p><p>“Explain yourself.” Duke Maxim’s voice was very quiet, his stern features turned uncertain.</p><p>“The Comte did not want to share the profits from the mine,” Lagrange said. “He caused the darkspawn to come, so that you might sell him the land cheaply. He knows of your—” a brief hesitation “—current troubles. When the Wardens came close to learning the truth he had me kill the smallholder who brought them there, to prevent him from speaking to anyone else.” Lagrange cast his eyes low, every line in his body sagging with guilt. “I would rather face punishment for the truth than live with the shame another day.”</p><p>“This is absurd,” Bellegarde growled. “Do you think—”</p><p>“Silence!” A familiar anger had returned to the Duke’s face, but this time it was not directed at the Wardens. He gestured to his guards, who came marching over. “Escort Comte Mathieu and Monsieur Lagrange to the cells. Find the elf, too, the one who plays maid for my daughter.”</p><p>For a moment Blackwall thought Bellegarde might attempt to fight off his captors, but when three guards reached for their weapons he relented. The rapier fell from his hand to the floor, clattering against the stone. Blackwall watched as Bellegarde and Lagrange were restrained and led away, the sound of armoured footsteps fading into darkness.</p><p>Duke Maxim turned back to the Wardens, his posture only slightly less stiff than it had been previously. “It appears I made an error in judgement,” he said. “I am… sorry, for that.”</p><p>“I’m afraid it’ll take more than ‘sorry’,” Clement said.</p><p>“Of course.” The Duke had the good grace to look ashamed. “We have much to discuss. Will you come with me to my study, so we might talk?”</p><p>Clement gave a haughty sniff, tilting his chin upwards. “I believe we could agree to that.”</p><p>As the group made its way back towards Chateau Lavigne Blackwall felt a hand slip into his, and looked down to see Tanith walking beside him. The other elf — her mysterious contact, he presumed — had disappeared while the Wardens were speaking to the Duke. Considering she had most likely broken into private rooms at the estate, Blackwall could understand why she might not have wanted to stick around.</p><p>“That was easily the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Tanith said, sounding slightly awed. “Just spectacularly terrible.”</p><p>He squeezed her hand. “I learned from the best.”</p><p>“Shut up.” She smiled at him, the colour high in her cheeks. “Is your arm alright?”</p><p>“I’ll live.”</p><p>“Very brave.” Tanith leaned against his shoulder. “Maker, I can’t wait to go home.”</p><p>That, at least, was something they could both agree on.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Her Beacon And Her Shield</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A short time later the Wardens sat opposite Duke Maxim in his study. The atmosphere was markedly different from when they had last entered the room. The Duke, while not precisely embarrassed, did at least seem a little cowed by the revelations of the evening. Once Bellegarde and Lagrange were taken to the cells — who knew such a mansion would have its own gaol? — the task came of negotiating what would happen next.</p><p>Nataly and Clement took the lead on this discussion, their experience of treating with the nobility allowing them to navigate the conversation with more delicacy than Tanith could have mustered. After several minutes of back-and-forth an agreement was reached; the Grey Wardens would send their own men to wipe out the darkspawn and repair the fissure, and in return Duke Maxim would give them a portion of the profit once the silver mine was operational. Neither party seemed especially happy with this compromise, but Tanith supposed that this was to be expected.</p><p>“I hope you will accept my sincere apologies,” the Duke said once he had finished writing up their agreement. “Comte Mathieu has been a friend to this family for many years. I did not think him capable of such treachery.”</p><p>“But you thought me capable of it?” Clement said, his voice a little sour.</p><p>Duke Maxim sighed, rubbing his face. He suddenly looked more like a tired old man than a powerful aristocrat. “You left for the Grey Wardens with no warning, Clement,” he said. “One minute I had three heirs and the next only two. Whoever I had thought you were, I was proven wrong. I have been proven wrong again in this.”</p><p>“Well,” Clement sniffed, folding his arms across his chest. “At least you admit it.”</p><p>“Is there anything else I might do for you?” the Duke asked, looking over the faces of the Wardens. “I would offer compensation for your duty, but…” he trailed off, still incapable of acknowledging his debts with anything so vulgar as words.</p><p>“I have one request, actually,” Blackwall said. He glanced across to Nataly, who nodded. “You can do what you like with Bellegarde, but we’d have Lagrange for the Wardens.”</p><p>Duke Maxim pursed his lips. “The man killed one of my subjects in cold blood.”</p><p>“He did,” Blackwall admitted. “On the orders of one of your allies, I’m sure you won’t mind me pointing out.”</p><p>“Very well,” he sighed. “Lagrange will be given to the order. Now, I think—”</p><p>“Actually, two more things,” Tanith said, holding up her hand. “Just quick ones.”</p><p>For a moment the Duke looked like he might protest, but then he slumped back in his chair and gestured for her to continue.</p><p>“Firstly, start paying your servants again,” Tanith said. “In full, from today, and everything they’re owed from the past few months.”</p><p>“I beg your pardon?” the Duke scowled. “How dare—”</p><p>“How dare me?” Tanith said, raising her eyebrows. “How dare <em> you</em>? Sell some bloody silverware if you have to. I stopped you getting ripped off by Bellegarde, if you remember. That’s my first condition.”</p><p>The Duke sighed. “Fine. I’ll see it done. And the second thing?”</p><p>“Romilly,” she said. “Sofie’s maid. I don’t want her ending up in jail or worse. Taking an opportunity when you’re desperate shouldn’t be punished that harshly.”</p><p>“I can hardly keep her in my household, after what she did.”</p><p>“That doesn’t mean she has to be arrested,” Tanith pointed out. “She made one mistake. Just let her go.” In truth, Tanith knew that this would not be enough. That ‘one mistake’ would be a black mark on Romilly’s name, and the likelihood of her getting another position in service would be near impossible.</p><p>“Fine. Any more requests?”</p><p>The Duke’s tone implied that these would not be especially welcome. Tanith briefly considered asking if she could keep the small couch in her bedchamber that she had grown so fond of, but thought better of it.</p><p>“In that case,” Duke Maxim said when no one responded, “I will bid you all a good night. It has been a… long evening.”</p><p>“Maker’s blood,” Clement breathed once the Wardens were back in the corridor. “If I’d known that telling off my father would be such a rush I would have done it years ago.”</p><p>“And a fine job you made of it too,” Hywel grinned, placing a hand of his shoulder. “You did us proud, ma’arlath.”</p><p>“You really did,” Nataly said. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m exhausted. Guessing the Duke won’t mind us sticking around another night?”</p><p>“I’m sure he won’t,” Clement said, stifling a yawn. “I think we’ve all earned a decent night’s sleep.”</p><p>Tanith stopped walking. “There’s just one more thing I need to do,” she said. “Go get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”</p><p>“You better not be causing any more trouble, Lavellan,” Nataly said.</p><p>“Not planning on it,” she laughed. “Sleep well.”</p><p>Twenty minutes later Tanith was outside the shepherd’s hut, knocking quietly on the door. Sera let her in a moment later, eyes bleary.</p><p>“Took you long enough,” she said. “I was half asleep already.”</p><p>“Sorry.” Tanith stepped past her into the hut. “We were getting things sorted with the Duke.”</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“He’s agreed to let the Wardens come and deal with the darkspawn,” she said. “And he’ll be paying his servants everything they’re owed.”</p><p>“Good.” Sera gave a rare smile. “Got to admit, didn’t think you’d pull it off. Thought it would be arrows for sure.”</p><p>“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Tanith said. “Just wanted to come and say thanks before we left.”</p><p>Sera shrugged. “Just the work, innit? Least it’s taken care of.”</p><p>“What will you do now?”</p><p>“Go find some other toff prick who needs putting in his place,” Sera said. “There’s always more where his kind come from.”</p><p>Tanith looked her over for a moment. “I don’t suppose you’d consider joining the Wardens?”</p><p>Sera burst out laughing. “No, I don’t suppose I would,” she said. “Plenty of monsters in Orlais as it is. Don’t see the point in looking for new ones.”</p><p>“Fair enough.” A thought occurred to her then. “By the way, there’s a servant about to be removed from the Duke’s service. Her name’s Romilly. I think she’ll probably need a bit of help getting back on her feet.”</p><p>“I’ll see what I can do.”</p><p>“She might also be an… asset,” Tanith said, putting emphasis on the last word. “She’s smart. Could be a welcome addition to your ‘Friends’.”</p><p>“I hear you.”</p><p>Sera walked over to one side of the room and started pulling the patterned blankets off the furniture, folding them small and tucking them inside a travelsack.</p><p>“You’re leaving now?” Tanith asked, surprised.</p><p>“No point sticking around.” Sera picked up her books and placed them carefully in the bag. “You say the problem’s solved, I trust you. Duke’s seen my face. Probably not too happy about the burglary, never mind if it helped him. Easier to go than wait for trouble.”</p><p>“I guess that’s true,” Tanith said. “Been good working with you, Sera.”</p><p>She put out her hand. Sera frowned at it for a moment, then shook it.</p><p>“You too.”</p><p>Tanith left Sera packing up her things in the shepherd’s hut and headed back towards the estate. The evening air was crisp and cold, the long summer finally giving way to true autumn. In the distance the lights of Chateau Lavigne blazed against the darkness. As much as Tanith hated to admit it, the place was beautiful.</p><p>The sitting room of the Freyan suite was empty when she finally returned. It seemed as though everyone was keen to get some rest before they set off for Fort Astor in the morning. Tanith walked over to the door of her bedchamber, shook her head, and then opened the one beside it.</p><p>Blackwall was standing on the balcony when she walked in, turning around at the sound of her footsteps.</p><p>“You worked out how to use the door, then?” he asked. A few days ago this would have been an insult, but now he smiled as he said it.</p><p>“I did.” Tanith leaned down to pull her boots off, throwing them in a corner. “Truly a feat of modern engineering. Less fun than jumping the balcony, though.”</p><p>She walked outside, leaning up against the balustrade beside him. The gardens below were all in shadow, broken only by the gentle light of oil lamps among the spiralling paths. A chill breeze sent her hair fluttering about her face.</p><p>“I owe you an apology,” Blackwall said, still looking out across the gardens. “I should have trusted you knew what you were doing.”</p><p>“Oh, I didn’t,” Tanith said. “Total fluke from start to finish. Very lucky we didn’t all end up being executed for treason, frankly.”</p><p>He laughed. “Should I rescind my apology?”</p><p>“No. I quite like having you indebted to me.” She heaved a dramatic sigh. “Though I suppose I owe you one as well. We’ve both been awful.”</p><p>“We have,” Blackwall agreed. “Should probably say sorry to the others, come to think of it.”</p><p>“Maker, that’s true. I can’t imagine it was any more entertaining to watch than it was to participate in.”</p><p>“So is that it, then?” he asked, more seriously. “No more fighting?”</p><p>Tanith placed a hand on his arm. “Not unless you do something stupid. Then I’m duty-bound to fight with you.”</p><p>“Stupid like challenging Bellegrande to a duel?”</p><p>“No, that’s the good kind of stupid,” she said. “I mean stupid like disagreeing with me.”</p><p>“Maker, I feel like I should be taking notes.”</p><p>“That couldn’t hurt,” Tanith grinned.</p><p>She pulled gently on his sleeve, leaning up on her tiptoes to meet him. They kissed more slowly than they had before the duel, when Tanith had found herself swept up in the moment. That had been a performance. This was an indulgence. In fact, there had been something hurried about every one of their intimacies until now; after Orzammar it had been a desperate clinging to life, and as they returned to Fort Astor they had both been acutely aware that their time together was short. They had never truly had the opportunity to relax with one another, to touch without some urgency driving them. Tanith found she rather liked it.</p><p>“So,” she said when they finally broke apart, draping her arms lazily around his shoulders. “Am I to take it that our feud is over?”</p><p>“If it isn’t we’re doing a bad job of showing it.”</p><p>“Really though.” Tanith’s expression grew serious. “If this— if we’re really doing this, it can’t be half measures any more. I don’t want to sneak around. I don’t want to pretend it isn’t happening. We’re shit at it anyway.”</p><p>“True enough.” Blackwall smiled, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “No half measures.”</p><p>“So you’ll tell Margot?”</p><p>“Yes, I will tell Margot.”</p><p>He didn’t hesitate when he spoke this time, and Tanith puffed up a little in satisfaction.</p><p>“Good,” she said. “Glad to hear it.”</p><p>“You know I’m not ashamed of you, don’t you Tan?” Blackwall’s voice was quiet. “Not in the slightest. The opposite, if anything.”</p><p>“I believe you,” she said. “You did just nearly get yourself killed in single combat because I asked you for a distraction. That was fairly compelling evidence.”</p><p>He frowned at her. “I didn’t almost get myself killed.”</p><p>“Really?” Tan glanced down to his arm, where the shallow wound had been before it was healed. “Because it looked to me like <em> I </em>stepped in and saved you.”</p><p>Blackwall leaned in to kiss the curve of her neck, then spoke into her ear. “I regret this already.”</p><p>“Shut up.” Tanith took his hand, pulling him back towards the balcony doors. “We can argue about it in the morning.”</p>
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<a name="section0020"><h2>20. You Composed The Cadence Of My Heart</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Epilogue </em>
</p><p>It was true autumn now, and the wind coming in from the sea was crisp and wild. The slate-grey water boomed where it broke against the peninsula, the seagulls wheeling overhead crying madly as they searched for fish among the surf. Blackwall made his way down through the pampas grass, sand crunching beneath his boots as he walked. He was grateful to be home, where the air was unperfumed and the sounds of the ocean were ever-present.</p><p>Tanith was sitting on the pebble beach, the waves coming in almost to her feet before the tide sucked them out again. Her hair was tied back from her face, and she wore a heavy coat to ward off the cold. As he watched she licked the tip of her finger and turned a page of the book she was reading, brow furrowed in concentration. She had been lovely in Velun, in her finery, but she was more lovely here. Something about her suited the rugged landscape of the coast. Sharp and unforgiving, impossible to tame, the kind of raw beauty that left you breathless.</p><p>When she heard him coming she folded over a corner of the page and set the book down beside her. The thought of what Odette would say if she saw her books being so ill-used made Blackwall wince, though he said nothing. He came to sit by Tanith on the shore, the blanket of smooth pebbles shifting beneath his weight.</p><p>“So?” Tanith looked at him expectantly. “What did she say?”</p><p>“She wasn’t exactly happy about it,” he admitted. “But I don’t think she was surprised, either.”</p><p>Tanith shrugged. “Probably the best we could have hoped for.”</p><p>In fact, Margot had guessed almost before he had told her. Apparently the Warden-Constable’s gift for perception had not failed her in this either. She had sighed about it, made some vague protests about <em> timeliness </em> and <em> suitability</em>, but had ultimately relented with surprising ease. Perhaps she knew that any attempts to dissuade him would be fruitless. Perhaps she simply did not care. Regardless of the reason, Blackwall felt better for having spoken to her. It was a relief to no longer have to worry about her response, to know that he and Tanith wouldn’t have to work at keeping their relationship a secret. He was proud that he was hers, and felt no particular inclination to hide it.</p><p>“So,” Tanith said, stretching. “What now?”</p><p>“Margot wants me back on recruitment soon,” he said. “She’s pleased with Lagrange, but the episode in Velun set us behind on our numbers.”</p><p>“She’s not sending you back out already?” she said, alarmed.</p><p>Blackwall shook his head. “Not for a few weeks. There’s a lead in Verichel that needs following up but Nataly volunteered to take it.”</p><p>“Good old Nataly,” Tanith grinned. “She’ll probably be glad to see the back of us for a while.”</p><p>“Most likely.”</p><p>“Hywel thinks I’ll be done with my training by the end of the year,” she said. “Says I’m making good progress now I’ve got the hang of it.”</p><p>“Congratulations,” he said. “Has he made any post recommendations yet?”</p><p>“Not yet.” Tanith idly poked at a rock with the toe of her boot. “Hoping I’ll get to try a bit of everything. See where I fit.”</p><p>“You don’t think you’ll come back on recruitment then?”</p><p>She laughed. “Not with you. We’d be tearing each other’s throats out within a fortnight.”</p><p>“You might be right,” he said. “What about on your own, then? I still think you might have a knack for it.”</p><p>“If we were <em> both </em> on recruitment all the time I’d never see you.” Tanith shuffled a little closer to him. “And that doesn’t sound particularly appealing either.”</p><p>He leaned in to kiss her, his hand resting lightly on the back of her neck. Tanith’s skin was prickled with gooseflesh but her mouth was warm, and she smiled softly against his lips. In the days since they had returned to Fort Astor they had fallen into an easy closeness, one that surprised Blackwall after their conflict at the chateau. They still argued, of course, almost constantly, but now it was teasing rather than angry. Something about it made a kind of perfect sense. They fit together.</p><p>“Shall we go back?” Tanith said, shivering. “It’s freezing out here.”</p><p>Blackwall stood, pulling her up with him. “Are you with Hywel this afternoon?”</p><p>“No,” she shook her head. “Free as a bird.”</p><p>Tanith grinned at him, a smile that showed all her teeth.</p><p>“I think we should probably start making the most of these last few weeks. Don’t you?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for sticking around loves! think i'm gonna be taking a bit of a break from ao3 posting but you can come say hi on twitter @elfthirst or tumblr @filthyknifeear</p>
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